Misguided Manipulation
by Dracoqueen22
Summary: Stark/Ichigo. Sent to the Living World on Aizen's orders to persuade Ichigo to join their cause, Stark finds himself questioning, led astray by Ichigo's strength.
1. When First They Met

New story for you! A six-part ficlet series. Each piece is connected, but there are large jumps in time in between them. I do hope you enjoy!

Also: _Apparently, there is now some major effort going around to prosecute people who are writing underage characters into smutty situations. Or so my beta informs me. So to cover my ass, I make this statement._

All characters depicted in this fiction are of legal age. Therefore, in order to comply with this statement, the story is officially AU. This is the same for all of my fictions, fanfiction or otherwise.

**Title: Misguided Manipulation****  
Pairings: Stark/Ichigo (eventually)****  
Rating: T  
Warning: Language, spoilers****, especially for Stark's ranking and stuff  
Words: 3,401  
Timeline Placement: After the Soul Society Arc and before Ichigo decides to seek help from the Vizard, somewhat. Very much AU.  
Description: ****Sent to the Living World on Aizen's orders to recruit Ichigo to his cause, Stark finds himself led astray by the orange-headed teen. What a surprise.  
Dedication: To Lady Azar-sama, my one and only beta and the one who requested this pairing. **

* * *

**Chapter One – When First They Met**

What a charming little town, Stark thought to himself as he perched on a rather high roof top and scanned the whole of Karakura. Rather quaint and bucolic and other such pleasant words that described small places with very little in them. He couldn't help but wonder just what the boss had been thinking to send him here. He certainly had better things to do than scour this _hamlet_ with its bright sun and cheery inhabitants, looking for one little orange-headed brat amongst all of the dark-haired _humans_.

With a twist of his jaw, Stark folded his arms across his chest and reminded himself that there was no use in questioning Aizen-sama's logic. Or trying to make sense of it either. He obeyed, or he didn't. There was no middle ground. And for the moment, Stark obeyed. He didn't see any reason to do otherwise.

For the moment.

So even if he thought this whole venture was foolish and pointless, he was going to do it anyway. If Aizen-sama really thought this Kurosaki Ichigo was important in the grand scheme of things, perhaps the brat was. It was up to Stark to find out for himself. Just as soon as he found the kid.

That inner and minor rebellion taken care of, Stark focused on carefully expanding his reiatsu. No use in getting caught by the Shinigami, after all. He knew they had advanced equipment to detect Arrancar and Espada happenings. Luckily, he was the most skilled outside of Ulquiorra at concealing himself. However, Ulquiorra didn't quite have the same charming personality as himself and therefore wasn't given this mission. Stark half-wished that he had been.

A sharp spike of uncontained and rippling reiatsu caught his senses. Probably the brat. There was little other useful spirit pressure in this village besides that tainted with the stench of Shinigami or human. Whereas Kurosaki's reiatsu had a delightful and intriguing mix of Hollow. Besides, most of the other reiatsu of any note had slightly better control. Or perhaps it was that Kurosaki lacked all semblance of restraint, and it simply showed. Either way, Stark was sure he'd found the brat.

Smirking to himself at the ease in which the first stage of his mission had been completed, he hopped from rooftop to rooftop. His path led him to a large building with multiple windows, surrounded by a wire fence. Huge open spaces of ground covered in either grass or hard-packed dirt was scattered within the compound. And Kurosaki was in one of the buildings, the largest in the middle.

Curious, Stark found a nearby rooftop and perched atop it, scanning what he could see with both eyes and senses. Those human friends of Kurosaki were there as well; he could see their faint glimmers of power. And – _che_ – Shinigami. He could sense those, too.

Disgusting.

Stark luckily didn't have to wait long before a low dong – six tones or so, not that he was really counting – echoed through the lazy afternoon. A perfect day for a nap wasted, just like that. He watched as hordes of humans began to pour from the doors of the building, all wearing the same outfit to some degree. And then, he saw Kurosaki. The bright orange hair was pretty hard to miss.

A scowl twisted up the brat's expression, and he walked with a bag slung over his shoulder. Beside him, the Shinigami-disguised-as-a-human skipped a little too merrily, and the big-breasted female with interesting powers chattered continuously. Kurosaki didn't seem to be paying much attention to either of them. Trailing along behind the trio was the Quincy – Stark recognized those glasses easily – and a rather large, darker-skinned human. The Espada didn't see the other Shinigami bastards anywhere.

A bit perturbed that he couldn't immediately swoop down and talk to the kid, Stark resolved himself to stalking Kurosaki. Keeping out of sight and carefully dampening his reiatsu, he followed the boy around Karakura.

Kurosaki walked all of his friends home except for the one, the Shinigami-disguised-as-a-human who Stark reluctantly learned was named Rukia. She came to his own residence, and from there, Stark could do nothing but wait. There was a strange presence inside Kurosaki's home, one that felt a bit like Shinigami but also a bit not. It was muted but seethed dangerously beneath the surface, and he felt just a bit intimidated and kept his distance.

Still, he felt satisfied in finding the boy's home and school – as he had learned the building was called. It was enough work for one day. He was hungry and in desperate need of a nap.

Fighting back a yawn and marking the location in his mind, Stark headed back to Hueco Mundo. He would try to catch Ichigo tomorrow.

* * *

Day two and three passed in nearly the same manner.

He tracked Kurosaki from house to school and back to house again. Sometimes, the kid made a few detours and wandered to a convenience store or another friend's home. Occasionally, he stopped by this slightly ramshackle store, the Urahara Shouten, which was also brimming with reiatsu that prompted Stark to keep a safe distance. He didn't need to be discovered before he managed to speak to the kid. He had never experienced the penalty for failure from the boss and hadn't planned on giving it a taste.

Mostly, however, it was the same routine for Kurosaki. He went to school. He killed some Hollows. He endured the existence of his friends. And apparently, he regularly had trouble controlling his inner self. Now, that was something of interest, but Stark unfortunately hadn't had the opportunity to discuss it with Kurosaki.

He had realized on the second day that in order to follow through with his mission he would have to get the brat alone. He couldn't talk to him and convince him to join Aizen-sama's merry bunch if he were surrounded by his own cheery gang of idiots.

But the more Stark watched Kurosaki, the more he realized that for all his surly attitude and glowering expression the kid was never really alone. He was surrounded by loyal companions. They practically worshiped the ground he walked on, and the Espada was marked by how similar to the boss the brat was in that respect. Except he had the feeling that Kurosaki didn't gain his admiration by terror but by something a bit more deserving.

The Arrancar wondered what it was about the brat that was so gravitating. Why people seemed to flock to him in loyal droves. And why so many would be willing to lay down their lives for him. But most of all, he wondered just what the boss saw in this kid and why he wanted Kurosaki on his side so badly.

Stark continued to watch, nearly forgetting about his initial orders in the wake of trying to understand. There was something about the kid, and he had to know what it was. The curiosity was nearly driving him mad.

* * *

It was an entire week later when the opportunity came to him. Literally.

"Why've you been following me?" a voice demanded in a belligerent tone, nearly sending Stark sliding off his rooftop perch in surprise.

He had been tracking Kurosaki throughout the entire day, waiting for a chance to strike as it were. But while contemplating giving up for the afternoon and making up for one of the many naps he had missed on this inane quest, his target had somehow disappeared from his sight. One second, he was there. The next, he wasn't. And there wasn't even a blip of reiatsu on Stark's senses.

That was his first clue that something wasn't quite right. The second happened to be standing right behind him.

Rising to his feet with a graceful and deceptively lackadaisical motion, Stark turned to regard his visitor, not surprised to find Kurosaki Ichigo standing there. Black cloth fluttered around his frame, his now thin zanpakutou in his palm. That explained how quickly he was able to move. But not the reiatsu suppression. Perhaps someone had been teaching him.

Stark grinned. "What makes you think that I have?" he drawled, hands slipping into his pockets as he glanced at Kurosaki from the corner of his eye.

There was something... in that determination, the hard glint of those brown eyes. He was certain the answer that had been bugging him all week was there.

The teenager scowled, and though his zanpakutou dangled down at his side, he didn't look harmless. "I'm not stupid," he spat in Stark's direction. "You're one of Aizen's Espada, aren't you?"

"I am." Stark saw no need to deny the truth.

Ah, there it was. Kurosaki's control was slipping, and he could already feel the tendrils of reiatsu slipping out. Seemed like he could only hold it for so long. Either that or his distraction was serving as a means to lose his restraint.

He watched as the boy's shoulders tightened. "Then why've you been following me? Why aren't you just attacking?"

Stark shrugged with faint nonchalance. "Saw something interesting. Thought I'd check him out for awhile."

The blade lifted and was pointed at him, all black and threatening. "Not buying that," Kurosaki growled. "What does Aizen want?"

"Right to the point, aren't ya?" Stark asked, not at all intimidated.

After all, the brat had a bit of trouble with Grimmjow, and strong or not, the sixth Espada couldn't even defeat Stark in his dreams. Which still begged the question as to why the boss _wanted_ this half-human, half-Shinigami, half-Hollow… whatever the hell Kurosaki was on his side.

"Don't see a reason not to be. Do you?" the teen shot back cockily.

And just the look made Stark's blood burn. He suddenly wanted to fight Kurosaki, to see what he really had hidden underneath. He refrained, however, thinking that the boss wouldn't like it so much if he damaged the merchandise.

"Alright then. It's pretty simple really." Shifting his position so that he faced the other male head on, Stark continued, "How 'bout joining our side?"

Those eyes widened, and Kurosaki's zanpakutou wavered uncertainly. "What the hell? You can't be fuckin' serious!"

"Oh, but I am," Stark replied easily, taking some amusement out of perplexing the kid like this. "The boss is pretty interested in you."

"Well, your _boss_ can fuck off," Kurosaki snarled, and his reiatsu spiked dangerously. Brown eyes were taking on a distinct and strange silver edge that only made Stark's curiosity grow.

He really wanted to know what was up with this kid.

Unfortunately, he never got the chance.

Stark sensed the danger seconds before it whizzed by his head in a startling display of bright blue and white. He jerked backwards, feeling the cool heat of power against his cheek. Not Shinigami. Something else. Something _Quincy_, as Szayel would have called it.

"Kurosaki!"

Dammit! Of all times for one of the brat's friends to join in. Lifting a hand, Stark gathered power into his fingertips and shot a cero in the direction of the newcomer, just something low-powered. After all, he couldn't convince Kurosaki to join them if he started killing off the kid's lackeys.

As the Quincy leapt to avoid the attack, bow brightening in his hands to relay another shot, Stark threw a reassuring grin at Kurosaki.

"We'll have to continue this another time," he said with fake apology. "Later." And with a vague two-fingered salute to his forehead, Stark stepped into a Garganta.

It wouldn't hurt to give Kurosaki a few days to think about it.

* * *

Stark didn't waste time in chasing down the brat again. After all, only the first contact was tricky. Now, Kurosaki knew that Stark was following him, which meant he had to be a little less unobtrusive. But not by much. Kurosaki's guard would be up now; he would be more aware.

Perched on the roof of the school, right above the main entrance where the kid usually exited, Stark waited. The low dong that signaled it was over for the day poured through his senses. And still, he waited. Any moment now a familiar orange-head would emerge from the building, and--

Ah, there.

Kurosaki must have sensed him because the boy turned around mid-step, eyes narrowed as he looked up at the Espada perched on the roof like some strange gargoyle. He looked annoyed, though it was hard to tell from his usual expression of irritation. And he was alone today. No human tagalongs or Shinigami escorts. Interesting.

Lifting a hand, Stark waved and rose to his full height. "Yo."

Kurosaki arched one brow. "You again?" he demanded impassively as though he didn't care one way or the other.

"What can I say?" Stark began with a careless shrug, effortlessly dropping from the roof to the ground and landing agilely next to the orange-haired human. "I'm damn persistent."

He snorted. "It's damn annoying," Kurosaki commented and turned to walk away, easily threading through the mass of students also trying to exit the building.

Stark didn't blame them. It looked boring, though possibly nap-worthy.

He quickly moved to walk beside the teenager, hands in his pockets and presenting a perfect picture of nonchalance. Brown eyes glared at him askance before Ichigo grunted his displeasure.

"And don't walk there either. People will think I'm crazy."

"No one said you have to talk to me," Stark pointed out, amused by the twitching of the kid's eyebrow. "Wouldn't ignoring me be easier?"

Rolling his eyes, Kurosaki shifted his schoolbag over his shoulder as he left the school grounds and turned in the direction that Stark knew would take him home. "Were you anyone else, then maybe. But you're as annoying as Grimmjow."

Stark was affronted by that. "Now, that's just rude. I am nothing like that guy."

Shrugging, Kurosaki rolled his eyes, his reiatsu flickering around him and easily escaping the bonds of his infantile control. Stark could sense the Hollow in it, intertwined with the blue stretches of his Shinigami abilities. The kid couldn't hide himself for shit. He was practically advertising his location and abilities to anyone within a hundred-mile radius. Whereas Stark, on the other hand, wouldn't be sensed until _after_ his opponent had been defeated in one blow and not a moment before.

The Espada tipped his head to the side. "You seem to be having a little trouble controlling that, _amigo_," he commented and reached out as if to touch the straying tendrils. "Surprised your little Shinigami buddies haven't noticed that Hollow yet."

Kurosaki halted mid-step and whirled on him. "You can sense that?" he demanded, eyes flashing angrily and with a hint of fear in their dark depths.

Ah, so his little friends didn't know of the Hollow inside him; perhaps they weren't sensitized to it like an Arrancar was. Either that or he feared his Hollow. Maybe even both.

Dropping his hand, Stark lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. "More than anyone else, I'll bet." He watched the kid closely. "I'm an Arrancar; you could say we're more attune to stuff like that. We recognize our own."

"Things like Hollows," Kurosaki retorted, a scowl decorating his expression; it seemed to be his favorite. "My control is none of your business." He whirled on his heels, stalking away from Stark with evident annoyance in every step.

Sensing something that could prove to lean in his favor, Stark immediately caught up. "On the contrary, I think that I might be able to help."

Kurosaki snorted, not even bothering to acknowledge his continued presence. "I don't need help from someone like you."

"Even if that means everyone finds out you're dirty secret because you're too stubborn to accept a little help?"

The boy paused but didn't turn, and Stark could see his fingers tightening around the strap of his bag. Ah, progress, how sweet it sounded. He pushed further, knowing that he had finally gotten to Kurosaki.

"If you don't control it, it will control you," Stark continued and moved in front of the teenager with a quick burst of sonido so that he was facing Ichigo. "I can teach you how. Take the offer as a token of goodwill."

Almost-silver eyes regarded him warily. "And immediately afterwards, I'll be forced to join Aizen. I can guess how your mind works."

"Not so," Stark replied, lifting a hand and holding it in front of him to stop Kurosaki's attempt to walk away. "The boss wants you to come willingly. This is just a free gift on my part. No strings attached. On my honor as a gentleman." He gestured vaguely to his chest. "Really, what have you got to lose?"

Kurosaki snorted again, eyes now taking on a golden cast. "I could think of a few things."

Shaking his head, Stark sighed and lifted his other hand. He held out the left hand, palm facing himself, and tugged at the fingertip to one glove. Neatly pulling it off and letting it dangle. It brought attention to the dark line that stood out brightly against his skin and on the back of his hand.

"See this?" he prompted and wriggled his fingers as Ichigo's eyes widened at the number presented there. "If I really wanted to take you in forcefully, I could. Grimmjow's only the sixth, _amigo. _The _**sixth**_."

Kurosaki was staring at him now, and though Stark hated playing his cards so early in the game, he also knew that the brat wasn't one for subtleties. The truth needed to be shoved in his face before he could see it. And well, if this was the best way to accomplish his mission, then so be it. Besides, the worst it could do would send the kid running scared, and Kurosaki wasn't really the type to do that.

The boy's gaze lifted to his. "Why would he send you to do something like this?" Kurosaki demanded. "You're the strongest. Doesn't he have lackeys for this sort of thing?"

"That's a good question," Stark replied, slipping his glove back on in one quick motion, effectively hiding the tattoo. "And as soon as I figure that out, I'll let you know. I'm not exactly thrilled about this myself."

Shifting in place, Kurosaki's brow furrowed as he absorbed the information, obviously debating. "What's in it for you then?"

"Call it curiosity," Stark drawled and motioned to the teen. "You've got a lot of power packed in there. I'm wondering why. Might even be a match for me in a couple years, if you learn to control it."

Kurosaki was singularly not impressed. "If only," he replied sarcastically, and when Stark continued to look at him, he sighed and raked a hand over his head. "You're serious."

"As a heart attack, _amigo_."

He let out a frustrated breath, his gaze darting all around Stark and on nothing really before he finally threw his free hand. "Fine. Whatever. Teach me. Hell, it's not like I could get any worse."

"So you'll accept help from the enemy?"

The teenager smirked, showing a touch of arrogance that might have been more of his Hollow's influence than anything else. "Can't exactly go to my allies, now can I? And you're not really my enemy at the moment."

"Not really to both counts." Stark smiled easily, hands returning to his pockets.

An abrupt leap took him backwards and to the roof of a nearby house, and he watched as Kurosaki glared at his departing form. "I'll find you then, yes? Lessons begin tomorrow."

Predictably, Kurosaki scowled, lifting his shoulders dismissively. "Whatever, Aizen's Espada," he muttered as he turned and headed back down the sidewalk, likely wanting to get home before the storm that was slowly rolling in struck.

"Stark," he called down to the kid, a belated introduction admittedly. "The name's Stark."

His only answer was a briefly waved hand of acknowledgment, not that Stark expected anything different. He watched the teenager for several longer moments, amusement creeping its way through him and threatening to overpower everything else.

This assignment might prove to be more entertaining than he had originally expected, he remarked to himself. With a chuckle, Stark stepped backwards into a Garganta, both an early meal and a much missed nap awaiting him.

He would need his strength.

* * *

a/n: And that's the end of the first part. I do hope you liked! This is a slightly different take on Stark than my usual, but I'm rather fond of it anyways. I'm trying to match it to current canon, so I hope I came close.

Part II to come soon! Let me know if you liked it!


	2. The Lessons They Learned

a/n: Wow, was I surprised by the level of support I received for this. I didn't think this pairing would be so popular, but I'm glad to be proven wrong. I do hope you enjoy this second chapter. It's almost a shame the story is so short...**  
**

* * *

**Misguided Manipulation**

**Chapter Two – The Lessons They Learned**

The lessons were going as well as could be expected.

"I can't do this anymore!" Ichigo growled, brushing off Stark's hand and stalking away from the Espada with an aggravated clip to his steps. "I'm tired." His reiatsu, not as widespread as it had once been, rippled on the edges and betrayed his fatigue and irritation.

Stark watched him go, briefly running a hand over his own hair to clear out the grit and dust that had gathered from their lesson. "You're giving up?" he questioned with an arched brow.

A hand waved dismissively at him. "Don't start that shit, Stark. I just need a break. You're not goading me into keeping this up again," the teenager retorted, already in the midst of peeling off his outermost layer as he strode in the direction Stark knew held the hot spring with its miraculously healing water.

When Ichigo had first brought him to this place, the Urahara Shorten with its strange and uncertain reiatsu, Stark wasn't sure what to think. He had avoided entering the place on purpose. He didn't believe that Ichigo would lead him into a trap or anything. That wasn't the kid's style, but he didn't really trust the place either. And the people in charge of it – from the weird geta-boushi, his overly large and accommodating assistant, the timid girl with a fierce punch, and the red-haired kid who looked like he could be the pineapple's brother – Stark was sure he had never met a crazier bunch. And he worked with the Espada, who included pink-haired fruits and two-headed creeps in tanks like Aaronierro.

Now, he still didn't know what to think, but he wasn't outwardly uneasy either. He just accepted the location for what it was, a place to train without others interfering, and let the rest slide off his shoulders. He would worry about potential threats and odd people when he had less to accomplish. Less on his mind.

When Ichigo was a far less distracting student.

No sooner had the thought passed his mind than he saw Ichigo strip down to barely anything, revealing all that flesh, even-toned and covered with faint scars. It rippled over burgeoning muscles, giving him full view of what helped him wield that big-ass sword. Stark was someone who appreciated beauty in any form, and Ichigo was something of a work of art. It really wasn't fair to swathe that sort of package in such surly wrappings. It made someone that much more determined to peel back the layers.

Stark shook his head, resisting the urge to slam his forehead into a wall. This was really counter-productive to the mission. Admiring just how appealing his student was would not give him any brownie points with the brat. He was supposed to convince him to join Aizen, not fuck him into the floor.

Though the latter didn't sound like such a bad idea. And damn, there was no way that kid was just sixteen.

Forcing himself not to stare, no matter how much his eyes seemed drawn to the tanned lines of Ichigo's back, dipping down towards--

Stark hastily stripped out of his clothes and stepped into the mineral waters, almost too hot for his cooling skin. There was a faint splash as Ichigo dropped into the other side, ducking his head beneath the water only to come up and shake like a wet dog.

"Why do you side with the Shinigami?" Stark abruptly asked, leaning against the water-smoothed rocks behind him. "You're a Vizard. They'll kill you for that."

Ichigo eyed him briefly as he scrubbed his fingers over his hair and made it spike up. "Why are you following Aizen? He used to be a Shinigami."

He distracted himself by watching the superficial wounds across his body vanish with a faint, itching prickle. "The boss is different."

Ichigo snorted. "A man can change his clothes, but that doesn't make him a different person." He splashed water onto his face to wash away gathered dust and grit. "As far as I can see, he's just as guilty as they are."

"If you don't agree with them, then why are you fighting on their side?"

Stark didn't understand that. For all he'd been able to see, Ichigo was pretty independent for a Shinigami pet. He never really did what he was told.

Deep brown eyes practically burrowed into Stark's head, until he couldn't look away. "Get this straight . I'm not on anyone's side. I'm just protecting those that are important to me. That's all I care about, Stark. Nothing else."

There was a steely glint in that expression, one that could not be dissuaded. A determination as strong as any vow.

"Like your family, _amigo_? And your friends, right?" Stark pushed, not alarmed by Ichigo's expression so much as intrigued by it. "Your crazy father. Your sisters. That busty chick--"

"--Inoue," Ichigo corrected without missing a beat.

Stark dismissed that as though he had never heard it. "The Quincy," he continued, listing all those he could remember from his observations. "The big guy. Your Shinigami friends including that pineapple. All of them, right?"

For a moment, he was treated to the sight of Ichigo's mouth dropping in surprise before his lips twisted into his favorite expression, a scowl. "How long _have_ you been following me?"

"Long enough." Stark waved a hand in encouragement to get back to the point. It wasn't as if he had kept his stalking – for lack of a better word – a secret. "What do you think they're going to do when they find out?"

For all of a moment, he caught Ichigo as his casual motions stalled abruptly. Yet, when it came to an answer, the boy was all nonchalance and dismissal.

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. Besides, some already know, and nothing bad has happened yet."

Stark arched one brow. "Yet," he repeated knowingly.

Rolling his eyes, Ichigo leaned back against the edges of the rather small pool, his hair a flat, orange mop against the top of his skull. "Aizen's not exactly man of the fucking year either. What makes him so worthy of your loyalty?"

"I wouldn't exactly call it loyalty," Stark replied loftily and tilted his head back to look at the faraway ceiling, painted bright enough to resemble some sort of sky. A lot like Las Noches in fact. "Respect for the better man perhaps."

Ichigo tilted his head to the side. "A man who used to be a Shinigami."

Amused, Stark smirked. "You seem stuck on that point."

The water rippled as Ichigo lifted his hand to make a vague gesture, half-swatting away the steam rising from the pool. "I sort of thought the whole Shinigami versus Hollow thing would have caused some kind of hatred."

The kid had a point. It defied all logic that the Hollows and Arrancar of Hueco Mundo would follow someone like Aizen, who had once been a Shinigami. Respect of another's strength was not enough. Nor was fear. There had to be something else. Perhaps that same unnameable something that drew others towards Ichigo. A charisma that couldn't be easily matched.

Stark wasn't even entirely sure why he followed Aizen. True, the man had helped him realize his potential in some way, shape, or form. And thanks to him the Shinigami were finally getting their comeuppance. But that didn't mean Stark actually liked the guy. In fact, sometimes he swore that Aizen was only playing war games with them, sending them out to die for the sake of his own amusement. And it didn't take a genius to figure out that Aizen cared little for his subordinates save that ass-kisser Ulquiorra.

The former Shinigami really did mean little to Stark. In a sense, he did respect Aizen. The man was ridiculously powerful and didn't look down upon the abilities of his Espada. He had intelligence and ambition, both potent weapons. And most of all, he had declared war against the Shinigami, who were avidly hated by any and all Hollows. So he had reason to respect Aizen. But that didn't mean he thought the man was his reason for existing.

"The boss is not other Shinigami," Stark finally answered. "After all, he's accepted the Hollow within him."

That bait was sure to snag Ichigo's interest, to learn that he wasn't the only one might help snare him.

Ichigo lifted his brow. "Aizen's a Vizard?"

"Oops, did I let that slip?" Stark grinned.

Rolling his eyes, Ichigo abruptly ducked back under the water for a brief moment and resurfaced. A hand scrubbed over his hair before he turned and reached for the edge, pulling himself out of the rock-lined pool.

Stark didn't bother to look away; he just stared this time. Watched as the water ran down Ichigo's skin in rivulets, tracing paths that fingers could easily follow. Damn, but his student was hot. For all his surliness, Stark would bet that Ichigo was a tactile person inside, just begging to be touched. His hands clenched beneath the water; this really was just a tad unfair.

"We're not done yet," he called after Ichigo as he watched the boy reach for a towel and rub it briefly over his skin.

The flat cotton scrubbed over his hair. "Gotta get home," he replied shortly, slipping easily back into his shihakushou without wasting any motion. Such a shame, to cover all that. "I promised Yuzu I'd help with dinner."

In the meantime, the Arrancar was not getting out of the water anytime soon. Luckily, the steam was a good concealer, but he didn't think Ichigo would appreciate seeing the evidence of Stark's lust. In that moment, the Espada was really cursing the boss for putting him on this assignment. What with tempting, orange-haired and surly brats.

"And the doting older brother makes his appearance."

Ichigo immediately scowled, a tint catching his cheeks that had nothing to do with the heat of the water. Charming.

"Shut up," he snapped, retrieving Zangetsu and returning the zanpakutou to his back.

"Same time tomorrow, _amigo_?"

"Whatever," Ichigo returned and waved him off over his shoulder.

And then, he was gone in a flit of shunpo, no doubt heading for the absurdly large ladder that was the exit to this massive space. Not for the first time did Stark wonder how in the hell something this large existed beneath a candy store.

Chuckling to himself, Stark settled back against the side of the pool. He willed his body to calm. He was too old to be losing control like this. Cupping water in his fingers, he splashed his face, trying to erase the images from his mind. Not that it did him any good. He didn't understand it. Ichigo blushed and spluttered at just the hint of a naked woman but didn't blink twice at disrobing in front of a man. But then, he was young. Such a shame that.

Feeling a prickle on the back of his neck, Stark suddenly knew that he was no longer alone. And it wasn't Ichigo. The boy still couldn't hide his reiatsu that well, and he was too in tune to Ichigo anyway. No, this individual was hiding himself well. Were it not for Stark's instinct, he wouldn't have even known someone was behind him.

Nonchalantly balancing his arms on the edge of the pool, he addressed the stranger. "It's rude to stare, you know."

"A man can't admire a bit of beauty?" a voice returned guardedly, and as Stark glanced over his shoulder, he recognized his visitor.

The man who had always unnerved him just a bit was standing there, hand on his rather atrocious hat. The other was curled around the head of a staff that even Stark could tell was just a form to hide the true shape of his zanpakutou. Everything about this man had always screamed Shinigami to him. Captain, to be more precise. Which was why he tended to steer clear of the blond. Ichigo's master or not.

Instantly on his guard, Stark put off a playful smile. "Not without introducing himself."

The hand lowered itself from the brim of his hat and brushed disinterestedly at his haori. "And here, I thought you knew me," the man replied airily. "It is, after all, my training grounds that you are utilizing."

Stark understood in that moment what this truly was. And he knew how to play these games just as well. Lucky for him, words were just as much his strong point as everything else. Poor Grimmy would have drowned.

"Ichigo never made the introductions. Poor manners, that kid."

"Not so. I happen to know for a fact that his mother raised him well." He tightened his hold around the staff, a gesture that was almost threatening for all its subtlety. "Urahara Kisuke, at your service. And you?"

It wouldn't hurt to speak the truth. There was no obvious play for his life, though Stark did feel a bit disadvantaged being naked and all. With his own weapon several feet away on his stack of clothes. Not that he needed it to be dangerous or anything.

"Stark."

"Just Stark?"

He grinned. "Primera Espada, too, if that's what you were looking for."

Urahara tipped his head to the side, giving Stark a glimpse of the gray-green eyes hidden mostly by the shadows of his hat. "I gathered as much from the lovely little black marking on your hand."

He resisted the urge to hide it; the shopkeeper giving him that same unusual feeling of uneasiness. This was no mere Shinigami; he was powerful in his own rights. He had to find out what the man wanted and quickly before he found himself in a difficult situation. And he doubted Ichigo would appreciate Stark harming his master. No matter how much he bitched about the man.

"Well, then, Urahara Kisuke, now that we are acquainted, we can get down to business."

"My, am I so transparent?" Urahara smiled, but it was a slow stretch of his lips. Geta clacked against the training ground as he circled around the pool so that Stark would no longer have to strain to look at him. "I'd ask what you are doing with my student, but knowing Sousuke, I think I can guess."

"Sousuke, hmm?" Stark grinned and followed Urahara's movements carefully. "So that's his name. Wouldn't Ulquiorra love to get that little tidbit?"

Those eyes, shadowed by that damn hat, watched him with interest. It was damn unnerving, that's what it was.

"I'm not sure this – whatever it is you are doing – is what Sousuke had in mind, however. Ichigo will not be swayed."

"You never know until you try." Again, Stark resisted the urge to hide himself and therefore betray a weakness. "You're not going to try and stop me?"

The smile widened into a smirk. "Hardly. He is more than capable of taking care of himself. And even if he isn't, well..." He trailed off, leaving that open for translation, though the way his fingers rolled across the top of his staff left little room for confusion. Along with the fluttering of red power that curled around it.

It was nothing short of dangerous, and Stark realized that he must tread carefully. Urahara was not offering acceptance, as it might seem, or even support. He was very cleverly threatening him with violence of an unrecoverable kind should he harm one precious hair on the boy's orange head. And there it was again, that unflappable loyalty Ichigo seemed to inspire in those around him.

"I only intend to snatch him away," Stark countered because he'd be damned if he let this hidden Shinigami intimidate him.

Urahara made a vague gesture with his free hand, as if giving him leave to do as he wished. "And you are welcome to try. I do advise you to be careful, Primera-san; things aren't often as simple when it concerns Kurosaki-kun."

"You're advising me?" Stark lifted a brow, wondering what exactly the catch was for this piece of necessary advice.

"Common courtesy." He was treated to a second even smile, which for all intents and purposes seemed genuine. "I would hate to see you... _ensnared_ by your prey."

Pale eyes watched Urahara as Stark lifted a hand, scratching one finger over the scruff on his chin. "In all honesty, Urahara-san, I have no idea what you mean."

"I think you might." He rapped his zanpakutou on the ground with a single, sharp noise. "No matter. I simply wanted to see for myself what sort of man you were."

"Espada," Stark corrected without missing a beat.

Urahara made a noise, like a cross between derision and amusement that Stark wasn't sure how to interpret. "If you say so."

With an offhanded shrug, Urahara shifted as though he planned to leave. Only to pause mid-turn, lifting his hand back to his hat. It was tugged down an inch, completely hiding his gaze from Stark.

"By the way, Primera-san, he has a fondness for Shakespeare. If you were looking for such information." And with that, the man was gone with a burst of shunpo, blurring out of Stark's sight with nary a single glimpse of his reiatsu.

Stark blinked at the man's abrupt exit. What the hell was that about? One minute he thought the man was intending to warn him away from Ichigo; the next, he couldn't help but believe Urahara was attempting to encourage him. It didn't make any sense. And he highly doubted that pondering about it was going to make any difference.

Rolling his neck and hearing bones pop, Stark glanced at his fingers with a faint frown. He was getting pruny; time to get out of the water. And by proxy, the basement of the shouten. Things were too damn weird here.

* * *

It was still pathetically easy to hide himself from Ichigo. That was never more apparent than in this current moment as he sat perched into the boys window without Ichigo even realizing he was there. It was almost amusing, were it not for the fact Stark had been working to make him more aware of the reiatsu presence around him.

Ichigo could hide his own reiatsu a little better now. At least, he wasn't broadcasting to the whole universe just how tasty he was. It was still easy for those nearby to sense him, and he occasionally lost his concentration, but it was much, much better than before.

Stark indulged himself for a few moments as he watched Ichigo rummage around his drawer, dressed only in a pair of tight-fitting boxers. His hair stuck up from his head, still faintly damp from the shower. And little droplets of water clung to the back of his neck and to the sides where he'd only half-heartedly toweled off. Stark realized that he was becoming a pervert because he was disappointed that he'd only arrived now and not right after Ichigo had gotten out of the shower.

Yes, a pervert indeed. He didn't think this was what Aizen had meant for him to do at all. But Stark had long since pushed the mission to the back of his mind. Now, it was pure curiosity that drove him. A need and a crazy desire to understand Kurosaki Ichigo and just why he was so damn valuable.

This distinctly stalkerish behavior really had to go.

In the nature of propriety, Stark very kindly let a small bit of reiatsu slip. Just enough to let Ichigo know he was there.

In the midst of snapping his pants shut, Ichigo whirled around, blushing brightly. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he hissed, snatching up a shirt and hurriedly sliding it over his arms.

Grinning, Stark gave a vague gesture and leaned against the frame of the window. "Was in the neighborhood." He idly wondered where that Shinigami who disguised herself as a human was, as she could normally be found within five feet of Ichigo's location.

"Just casually taking a stroll down the streets of Karakura," Ichigo growled and stalked towards the window. "Like I'd believe that."

Stark grinned, still admiring that bright red dusting Ichigo's cheeks. So all the bravado from before was just that. He did blush in the presence of men. _Charming_.

He shrugged offhanded. "Okay, so maybe I just wanted to see you. Thought I'd give inviting you to join our side another chance."

"First thing in the morning?"

"What better time?"

"Che." Ichigo snorted and turned his back on Stark, searching around for his school shirt and belt. "My answer hasn't changed."

Stark hadn't expected that it would, but he thought he'd throw it out there anyway. "Can't blame a guy for trying, ne?"

Ichigo made a noncommittal sound in his throat, carefully working the strip of leather through his belt loops. "Be quiet. I don't need my sisters knowing you're here."

"I wouldn't hurt them." The answer was genuine and honest. Stark wasn't into hurting little girls. Or anyone who couldn't fight back for that matter.

"I know that."

To be honest, Stark was surprised that Ichigo did. Anybody with knowledge of the spirit worlds would have been worried about their family with a fearsome Espada nearby. Did Ichigo trust him that much? Or was he just that certain of his own abilities to protect them?

Fingers carefully flipped buttons through their respective holes. "I just don't want to answer difficult questions."

"Hmm. Or maybe you just want to protect them. Isn't that what you told me? No sides, just protecting everyone?"

Ichigo grunted. "If you heard me so well, then why are you asking again?"

"Because I can." Stark tilted his head to the side, considering all that he had observed from Ichigo. One fact stood out in his mind, and he thought to stir things up a little. "You know, you're important to them, too."

Brown eyes cast him a look, demanding explanation. Stark had to admit that the statement was pretty vague.

He reclined in the window, trying to get comfortable despite the faint bite to the morning's air. What the hell was it with getting students up at the asscrack of dawn anyway?

But Stark simply shrugged. "That girl loves you, _amigo_."

"What?"

Searching, Stark tried to remember a name. However, as they had never actually met, he couldn't recall at the moment.

"That busty chick," he tried instead.

"Inoue," Ichigo corrected, carefully tucking the tails of his shirt into his pants. "What would you know about her anyway?"

"I see things," Stark replied. "She watches you all the time. She and that redheaded pineapple."

Ichigo blinked out of sheer surprise, jaw dropping. "Renji?"

"You're a regular Casanova." Stark grinned, knowing that perfectly oblivious Ichigo probably hadn't even noticed just how closely he was being watched by his friends. There was some serious one-sided affection going on there, and more than that, some serious lust. Stark knew it when he saw it.

The kid recovered from his surprise quickly enough. Though it was difficult for Stark to tell since Ichigo had shown him his back, rifling through the stacks of papers on his desk.

"And you've been watching too much TV. What? Not enough destruction and death to go around in Las Noches lately?" Ichigo tried and failed to deflect.

But Stark took mercy on him. "I'm wounded, Ichigo. My heart, it bleeds. Aren't we friends?"

"Hardly." He sniffed, but it was halfhearted, more for the sake of arguing than anything. "You're more like my unwanted tagalong."

Stark tried not to be offended. After all, he had thrust himself into Ichigo's life without the boy's permission. At least, Ichigo didn't know how much of a stalker he was.

"Join us."

"That again?" the teen glanced over his shoulder, looking a bit exasperated. "You just asked me. I don't join sides, Stark. I thought you understood this."

"You're fighting against Aizen."

Really, there was nothing more amusing than bantering with Ichigo. It was like the boy was incapable of dishonesty, only able to candidly answer each demand and question.

Ichigo sliced a frustrated hand through the air. "He keeps attacking my friends!"

"He wouldn't if you joined us." Which was true enough.

A growl of annoyance rasped in Ichigo's throat, rattling a bit through his reiatsu. The objects on his desk shook a little, and the boy absentmindedly caught a cup of pens and pencils before it jumped off the top.

"Why do you follow him then?" Ichigo countered, throwing him off a little. "What makes you think he won't betray you like he did the Shinigami?"

At the sudden question, Stark was thrust into silence. He had no answer for that because he honestly didn't know. It made sense. Aizen had betrayed his former allies once; why wouldn't he do it again?

"You're just a means to an end for him," Ichigo continued as he shoved the cup further onto his desk. He reached for books and papers, shoving them into his school bag. "Fodder in his war against the Shinigami. And I'm not interested in becoming fodder."

"And you're not just fodder for the Shinigami against the Arrancar?"

Ichigo glared, though it lacked heat. "I don't let myself be used." He threw a hand over his hair in an attempt at doing something with it. "I'm not going to join Aizen. And nothing you can say will change that."

Shrugging, Stark smiled, effectively hiding the strange stirring of thought that Ichigo's provocative statement had produced. "A mind can change, _amigo_. It wouldn't be the first time."

"Take your boss for instance," the Vizard snarked in return, displaying just a hint of malice. "He turned his back on his allies for his own purposes."

"Harsh, Ichigo. Talk about hitting where it hurts."

The brat waved him off and tossed the strap of his bag over his shoulder. "It's the truth, isn't it? Now, stop bugging me; I have to go to school," he added, turning the knob to his door and stepping out of the room. It closed behind him, leaving Stark alone. Really, the kid was too trusting.

A part of him was beginning to realize just why Aizen wanted Ichigo on his side. And he was also starting to realize exactly why that would never happen. Which put him in quite the difficult situation. He wasn't going to be able to accomplish his mission. Yet, Stark wasn't disappointed by that. It simply meant more time to figure Ichigo out. Which wasn't exactly a trial.

Despite himself, Stark found he was actually growing to like the young Vizard. Strange in itself but true. Though he'd be damned if he knew why, lusting after Ichigo's flesh aside.

Thumbing his chin one last time, Stark shook his head and dropped back out of the window, heading for the nearest rooftop. He still had work to do.

* * *

a/n: And there goes another part. The next should be coming out soon enough, and we'll see more progression in their relationship.

Also, I thought I'd make the comment that this entire fic is from Stark's POV, so you won't get to see anything in the way of Ichigo's thought processes.

I do hope you enjoyed!


	3. How Hard They Fell

a/n: And herein lies the adult content. No likely the smut? Don't read the smut. It's that simple. And for those who likey, enjoy!

Wow, I'm still shocked by how much people are liking this. I never expected it to be so popular. Thanks!

**Title: Misguided Manipulation**

**Pairings/Characters: Stark/Ichigo, Urahara, Aizen, Lilinette**

**Rating: M**

**Warning: Language, spoilers, smutty male/male, slight OOC**

**Words: 5085**

**Description: ****Sent to the Living World on Aizen's orders to recruit Ichigo to his cause, Stark finds himself led astray by the orange-headed teen. What a surprise.**

* * *

**Chapter Three – How Hard They Fell**

Stark hit the ground with a grunt, spat out the dust that choked his mouth, and abruptly rolled back onto his feet. All without missing a beat. And seconds before a black-edged zanpakutou careened towards him, narrowly missing where his head had just been. And he hadn't even drawn his own blade yet.

The kid was getting better and better each day. Perhaps it was time Stark stopped holding back and actually took Ichigo a little seriously.

Skidding to a halt in front of a rocky outcropping, Stark dragged his arm across his face, wiping sweat and grit from his eyes. The dust was making visibility near impossible, and only his other senses told him where Ichigo was. Standing right in front of him a few feet away, Zangetsu still drawn and ready.

"I can still sense you, Ichigo!" Stark called out and peered through the thick, brown haze in the air. He didn't want to admit it, but he was actually breathing heavy.

It was like Ichigo was getting faster and faster, and he could better predict Stark's moves now. Like he was adapting to Stark's method of fighting, the way he plotted out an attack and moved across the battlefield. The Espada had learned things about Ichigo as well, but it was nothing like this. It was almost like Ichigo was made for battle, that he evolved with it. Fascinating.

The thought of it burned in Stark's blood. There was nothing more arousing than the sight of determination glimmering in Ichigo's eyes, turning the honey-brown irises a gleaming silver. He was glorious in the midst of a fight, attacks smooth and instinctual. Jaw set, the streaks of blood only making him that much more alluring.

It was becoming increasingly harder for Stark to concentrate. Especially since all he wanted to do was throw Ichigo to the ground and molest him fully. Lick away the blood, rub his hands over bare skin, and swallow Ichigo's cries of pleasure.

Damn. This was getting out of hand.

"Shut up!" Ichigo roared across the barren expanse, echoing in the underground training center. "I'm trying!"

"Not hard enough!" Stark returned and slid silently to the side as he prepared to dodge another of the boy's reckless attacks.

_Not hard enough_ his ass. If he got any harder even oblivious Ichigo would see it.

A growl of exasperation was his response, and Stark resisted the urge to chuckle. Subtlety was definitely not Ichigo's style, but he tried to teach it to him anyway. It wouldn't hurt for the boy to be more rounded. Not every battle could be won with his hack-away-until-it-stops strategy.

On the edge of Stark's senses, the ripple of Ichigo's reiatsu was a very noticeable impression. He didn't know if that was because the Vizard really wasn't attempting to hide himself or if he was just attuned to Ichigo by now.

Glancing around, Stark peered through the rising dust, slowly settling after Ichigo's _getsuga tenshou_ faded, leaving remnants of his reiatsu behind. He was slowly shifting his position, senses stretched to see if he could guess Ichigo's next direction of attack. Sometimes, it was easy to tell what the boy had planned. Other times – a narrow miss that nearly took off his right ear – he couldn't predict what Ichigo was thinking at all.

It was suddenly very quiet. Stark tipped his head to the side in consideration. The dust sank towards the ground, and he could make out grooves cut by Ichigo's reiatsu. But of the teen, he couldn't see anything. Or feel anything for that matter.

The first Espada let his lips stretch towards a grin. The teen was learning after all. He reached up and flicked a hand through his hair, only to have the skin on the back of his neck prickle. Reiatsu surged, a wonderful mix of Hollow and Shinigami flavored with Ichigo, and Stark very casually took a step back to narrowly avoid the burst of black-red energy that careened by him. Close enough that he felt the heat of it.

Another sharp burst and Stark whirled, lifting his hand to toss a cero at Ichigo, who had suddenly materialized behind him. The boy blocked it with the flat of Zangetsu but didn't seem perturbed that his brilliant plan had been ruined. He was pushed back several paces by the force of the rather weak cero.

"Behind you," Ichigo called out with a smirk.

And Stark's eyes widened as he felt the oncoming surge of reiatsu. Another _getsuga tenshou. _Damn but he was getting faster at firing those things. The Arrancar leapt into the air, determined to evade what he belatedly realized was a pretty weak attack. Ichigo had wanted him in the air. But he'd realized it too soon.

Wind whipped around him along with a flurry of dust brought about by the burst of energy. Thanks to it, Stark didn't see Ichigo when he burst into the air and darted forward. He threw up his hands for defense, but the teen didn't intend to actually hurt him. The flat of Zangetsu knocked him out of the air, and Stark lost his footing, plummeting back to the surface.

With a grunt, Stark hit the ground ass first and landed directly on a rather pointed rock. He hissed with the sudden jab of pain but didn't have time to curse his clumsiness as Ichigo landed, suddenly crouching over him, making a rather menacing shadow.

"Gotcha," the teen panted, driving Zangetsu into the dirt near Stark's head with a final-sounding crunch of metal through rock.

Stark's eyes flickered between Ichigo's position and his face before he held his hands out in defeat and dropped them to the ground. "Okay, so this time you did. That makes what? One out of five?" He shrugged. "At least, it's progress."

"Fuck you," Ichigo returned without any real heat and dropped his hands from Zangetsu's hilt to his knees, which currently straddled Stark's hips. "This isn't exactly easy." One palm swiped at his forehead, smearing the blood from a superficial wound. His face flushed from exertion, eyes bright with success.

In short, he looked really, really fuckable.

Unconsciously, Stark licked his lips and then cursed himself for making that motion. "Ah, don't worry about it," he replied, digging one elbow to the ground in an attempt to rise from his current position. "As they say--"

Ichigo's eyes weren't really just brown, he suddenly noticed, probably due to how close they were. They had little flecks of gold in them, too. And he had some really long eyelashes for a guy. They were near enough that he could feel the puffs of air as Ichigo's breathing gradually returned to normal.

"--practice makes perfect," the Espada lamely finished.

His mind really had just stuttered out for a second there, hadn't it? And he was the one who was supposed to be in control! Where had all his composure gone?

He suddenly wondered if there was such a thing as being too close. However, that thought abruptly spiraled back out of the pit it had crawled from and flittered from his mind. In the next moment, Ichigo had closed the distance between them, sealing his mouth over Stark's. The Arrancar's eyes widened in abject surprise at the half-clumsy but determined kiss, firm yet testing.

Stark's free hand flailed out, grasping hold of Ichigo's shihakushou as the teen's lips pressed more firmly against his, threatening to throw him off balance. His own body was flushing with heat, libido doing a happy dance. And this really wasn't helping the situation currently throbbing within his hakama. Ichigo really had no idea how sexy he was...

The kiss ended, leaving Stark unconsciously following the departing lips before he caught himself. Ichigo stared at him, and he was staring back at Ichigo. The air between them was so charged, they could have lit an entire block of houses.

And for the first time in his life, Stark was absolutely speechless. "That was--"

"--not what you expected?" Ichigo offered, though by the burning in his cheeks and the cautious cast to his eyes, he seemed to be expecting a strike.

"That would be putting it mildly," Stark returned and licked his lips once more as if to savor the feel of Ichigo pressed against him. He was two steps away from grabbing the teen and throwing him to the ground. "You--"

"What?" Ichigo asked, and it would have been indignant were it not for the blush staining his cheeks. "You're hot."

Stark's fingers scraped against the ground as he forced himself not to just tackle Ichigo. "We're supposed to be enemies."

"Right. Enemies who happen to train together," the boy countered. "Glad we got that straightened out." And with little warning, he once again kissed Stark, sealing his mouth over the Espada's with a puff of warm air.

A sound that embarrassingly couldn't have been called a whimper echoed in Stark's throat as he parted his lips, drawing Ichigo in. A hand lifted, curling itself in the Arrancar's hair, fingers pressing against his scalp. Tongues met; Ichigo's tentative at first and then gaining in confidence. He tasted like sweat and blood and then something a bit sweeter, the rich darkness of chocolate.

Stark gave up on his control. It was gone with the wind anyway, melting under Ichigo's rather aggressive affection.

Another hand emerged from nowhere, curling fingers around the only thing keeping Stark up and abruptly pulling it out from beneath him. He tumbled backwards, Ichigo landing atop him with a faint grunt. Lips and teeth clacked together with a slight sting before the kiss continued, not losing an ounce of desire from the brief interruption. And Stark groaned, the change in position putting his groin in direct contact with another. He felt an answering hardness slide against his, setting his senses aflame.

Stark never would have expected Ichigo to be this aggressive. He wondered how long the teen had been harboring designs on him and why he hadn't noticed. At least, it explained the complete disinterest in that busty chick.

Teeth nipped at his lips, dragging him out of his thoughts, and Stark's hips arched upwards to rub sensuously across Ichigo's clothed groin. Above him, Ichigo moaned into his mouth, a sound that shot straight through his senses. Reaching up, Stark grabbed the boy's hip and dragged him down further, grinding against him.

He felt sand dig into the back of one hand beneath thick fabric, Ichigo curling his fingers and pressing it against the ground. It was only a bare impression on the edge of his mind, however, swallowed up by Ichigo's passion. He stopped thinking then and just started feeling, body moving on instinct alone.

Fingers rubbed across his scalp and drew his head backwards as Ichigo broke away from his lips, breathing hotly into Stark's ear. He groaned, heat shooting through his body. Sparring had already gotten him worked up, and this was only making it worse. His arousal was trapped within the confines of his hakama, and Ichigo ground down against him, sending sparks of pleasure racing.

He gasped, fingers tightening in their hold. Fire flooded his veins, building a crest of want. Stark felt the brush of Ichigo's hair against the side of his face and moaned as the Vizard's hold tugged at his scalp. The prickle of discomfort made him squirm with desire.

Warm lips moved across his skin. Ichigo's mouth latched onto his throat, tongue flicking over his skin and surely tasting the sweat and dust. He didn't seem to care, growling a little in his chest as he sucked hungrily. And Stark moaned, surprised and turned on as all hell by this aggressiveness. Where was the shy teen who blushed at the hint of bare flesh?

Gloved fingers – he was still wearing his gloves! – curled in the front of Ichigo's shihakushou tightly as Stark bucked up against his rolling motions. It was sloppy and messy, nothing like the smooth moves Stark was used to making. But it filled him with a fire nonetheless, one that threw all reason out the window.

Teeth scraped over his throat, and Ichigo's mouth moved lower, his tongue carving a path of erotic intent. Stark gasped, fire twisting and curling in his belly like a tight coil waiting to be unleashed. He felt Ichigo's chin bump the remnants of his Hollow's mask, sending a trill of pleasure down his spine.

And then a warm, wet tongue followed without any hesitation, licking across the pale bone, and Stark abruptly lost it. He hissed through his teeth, hips rolling upwards as release crested over him, spilling into the confines of his hakama. Like a damn kid unable to control himself.

He gasped, body shaking from the force of his release. Above him, Ichigo smirked and pulled his lips back from the remnants of Stark's mask.

"Don't look so smug," Stark gasped, flexing his fingers against Ichigo's hand. The teen was distracted. It would only take one push…

Ichigo hovered over him, arousal flushing his cheeks even as he relished in his minor victory. "Can't I?"

His own smirk returned and slid slowly across his lips. It was all the answer Stark would give. He felt his power flex as he surged upwards, surprising Ichigo with the sudden mission. With one great heave, he flipped the teen over, forcing him to land hard on his back. The moment of stunned shock was all that Stark needed to capture two smaller wrists in one hand and pin them above Ichigo's head.

"Pinned you," Stark returned casually as he straddled Ichigo's lower thighs, effectively keeping him from moving. Not that it seemed he was making an actual attempt to get away or anything.

Ichigo bucked up against him, a half-hearted attempt at testing the restraints. "Maybe I let you," he countered with a flash of fire in his eyes, darkened with lust.

The Espada brought his free hand up to his mouth, biting on the end of a fingertip and slowly pulling off one glove. He spat it off to the side, out of the way.

"Oh, how the tables have turned," Stark purred, dropping his bare hand to Ichigo's hakama. He rubbed the heel of his palm over the hardened shaft beneath the thick fabric.

Heat staining his cheeks, Ichigo gasped. "Ah… Gonna… back up that talk?"

"So mouthy," Stark breathed, leaning over and nibbling on Ichigo's ear as he rubbed over Ichigo's clothed erection once more.

He was gifted with another breathy moan as his tongue curled around the shell of a rather sensitive ear. Stark's hand busied itself with undoing the complicated knot of the obi and drawing down the confines of the hakama. Ichigo's cock sprang into the air eagerly.

Stark chuckled to himself. "And no fundoshi," he breathed hotly into the teen's ear. "How bold of you."

"Shut up," Ichigo hissed, all indignation and bluster. But it degenerated into a moan as Stark wrapped his fingers around the teen's arousal, already seeping at the tip. It was utterly clear that it wouldn't take long.

He rubbed his thumb over the moist head, smearing the fluid everywhere, and stroked Ichigo firmly. As he had anticipated, Ichigo surged into the touch, hips bucking hungrily upwards. Stark had just known that he wouldn't' be so reserved. Ichigo really had no idea how sexy he was.

"Gladly," Stark purred and dragged his mouth across the curve of Ichigo's jaw, faintly tasting the blood that had dried there only to capture the Vizard's lips with his own.

His tongue swept into Ichigo's mouth, coaxing his tongue to tangle. Gloved fingers flexed around Ichigo's wrist, though he didn't think the teen had any intention of trying to escape. It was the illusion of dominance more than anything.

Ichigo twisted and flexed beneath him, hips rocking upwards into Stark's fist. The Espada wasted no time in stroking firmly, knowing that the teen was already on the edge as it was. There would be plenty of time for teasing and play later. Or at least, he desperately hoped so.

Stark nipped gently on the Vizard's bottom lip, sucking hungrily at his tongue. He couldn't get enough of that odd taste, sweet and bitter both. And simply listening to every erotic sound that Ichigo made in his throat was enough to stir Stark's interest once more.

Breaking away with a gasp, Ichigo sucking air into his mouth as he threw his head back, Stark couldn't resist the expanse of throat stretched out before him. He dropped his head and mouthed the thin skin, flicking his tongue over Ichigo's flesh. He tasted sweat and grit and the lingering scent of Ichigo's soap, whatever it was. _Intoxicating_.

He increased the pacing of his strokes and was rewarded for his diligence when Ichigo suddenly cried out and arched his back. Power rippled over Ichigo's body in a short tidal wave of bright blue and black-red sparks as he lost control and liquid warmth spilled over Stark's fingers. He hurriedly covered Ichigo's mouth with his own, swallowing up the erotic screams. He touched Ichigo gently through the last of his tremors, waiting until he was through before releasing him.

Rather pleased with himself, Stark brought his fingers to his lips, licking away the traces of Ichigo's release. The teen watched him with a surprised look, eyes avidly staring at the sight of his tongue lapping over his fingers. Stark didn't mind the audience, just glad that he wasn't receiving an expression of disgust.

Ichigo tugged lightly on his trapped wrists. "Mind letting me go?" he asked, voice thick with stirring want.

"Maybe I want to keep you," Stark returned evenly and licked his lips as he dropped his free hand to the ground beside Ichigo's head. He was beginning to feel a rousing arousal once more

Brown eyes darkened at the comment, fingers twitching but not making another half-hearted attempt. "That would be a good idea, if I didn't suspect Urahara-san to show up any minute now."

"What?"

Even so, Stark could feel that something was approaching. It was only noticeable because it was a distinct lull in the reiatsu that was swirling around them, out of control in the wake of their lust.

"Che. Pervert." He released Ichigo's hands.

The teen lowered them from above his head, rising to a sitting position as Stark pulled back a pace. "Not much of an insult since he already knows it."

"Well, he has rotten timing." Stark smirked, trying to ignore the mess in his hakama at the moment. He really needed a bath.

"One might say I have the _best_ timing," the shopkeeper stated, suddenly appearing on an outcropping of rock above them. He was leering down at the two of them, an unfolded fan fluttering in front of his face. "How I wish I had remembered to install those cameras sooner."

Ichigo scowled up at his master, face burning with a blush. "Try it and die, geta-boushi."

"My, Kurosaki-kun, threatening me already?" Urahara chuckled amusedly. "It seems only fair since you are using my training grounds."

"I need a bath," Stark idly commented, having no shame when it came to that sort of thing. "And a change of clothes," he added a second later.

There was a moment of silence that was broken only by the sound of Urahara beginning to laugh, unable to hold it in. "There's a washroom upstairs, Primera-san. Feel free to use it." The fan snapped closed.

"He probably has cameras in there, too," Ichigo muttered, and it was cute how he still blushed. It was good to know that the aggressive behavior didn't complete lose sight of his charming shyness.

"And I'm sure we can spare something while you wash your clothes!" the tittering shopkeeper added, raising the volume of his voice to be sure they heard him.

Ichigo's scowl only deepened as he tossed his master a firm glare, which caused Stark to chuckle. "I can assure you, your master holds no interest for me." He moved towards the teen, hands in his pockets as he lowered his voice.

"It's not that." With a sideways look and a deeper flush invading his cheeks, Ichigo squared his shoulders. "I just don't want that pervert to look at you."

Such honesty! It was so cute!

Stark forced himself not to jump the teen once more than and there. As much as he would have enjoyed it, he was ever aware of Urahara standing over them and watching. And he didn't feel like sharing.

Instead, he stepped closer to Ichigo and lowered his tone until it was a carnal whisper in the Vizard's ear. "Want me for yourself then?"

Ichigo scowled. "You should get it already. I can't make it any clearer." And with that, he stormed ahead of Stark, snatched up Zangetsu from where Stark had rolled them away from it, and stalked towards the exit.

Rolling his shoulders, Stark languidly followed along after the Vizard, all the while fully aware that Urahara had been watching them. He stopped long enough to retrieve his glove, sliding it back over his fingers and concealing the tattooed mark.

Things had just gotten a hell of a lot more interesting.

* * *

Stark was woken from a rather recuperative nap when Lilinette jumped on his stomach, heel-point first. His eyes flew open, and he groaned, grabbing the young Arrancar with one hand as he lazily rolled into a sitting position.

"I'm up," he grouched and fought back a yawn.

It was tiring trying to teach Ichigo this, that, and the other. The boy was quick on the uptake and learned things with startling speed, but still, some lessons required lots of patience. And more often than not, Ichigo wanted to practice, practice, practice until he'd beaten it into his head with a sledgehammer.

For a moment there, Stark was really worried about his stamina.

"Pooh!" Lilinette muttered, waving her arms in the air as she tried to get free from his hold on her. "Aizen-sama's gonna be mad if you don't hurry up."

Stark blinked as he tried to clear away the fog of sleep from his mind. "The boss wants me?" he repeated, making certain he heard her correctly.

"Why else would I bother you?" Lilinette returned with a kick of her dainty legs. "Put me down, Stark!"

Despite himself, Stark chuckled and obediently set Lilinette back onto the floor, making sure she didn't wobble when he did so. "What does he want?"

Flipping a hand through her hair, as though wishing it were long enough to toss it over one shoulder, Lilinette shrugged. "He didn't say. He just sent Ulquiorra-sama to come get you. Ulquiorra-sama wasn't too happy about that."

"You mean he actually expressed emotion?" Stark replied amusedly as he rose out of his bed with his usual lackadaisical grace. Ulquiorra strongly disliked playing fetch, though he endured it for the sake of his Aizen-sama.

Lilinette stomped a foot on the floor. "You know what I mean!" she huffed, and Stark chuckled again, patting her on the head.

"Thanks, Lilinette. I'll head over there right away." Ruffling her hair once more just to irritate her, Stark adjusted his clothing and headed for the door.

Aizen summoning him was nothing unusual were it not for the fact that they were embroiled in making plans and plots at the moment. The lord of Hueco Mundo rarely had time for much else, and if he wanted something done immediately, he usually called on Ulquiorra, who was all too quick to do his bidding. Not that Aizen wanted much done at the moment. Plans were being laid and put into effect. The final war was on the horizon, most of the preparation was already completed.

Besides, Stark was already in the middle of a mission. Perhaps it was that which Aizen wanted to discuss. Admittedly, Stark had made little progress. At least on Aizen's desires. As for his own, well... he supposed becoming Kurosaki Ichigo's lover was far from what his boss intended, unless of course it provided the path for Ichigo joining Aizen's side. But even Stark knew at this point that Ichigo wouldn't be coming to Hueco Mundo. Nothing would convince him to do so. Especially since Stark refused to be so honorless as to invoke Soul Society to turn on him by revealing the truth. That was just cowardly.

Hands in his pockets, Stark made his way to the throne room, certain that Aizen was waiting there. He loved to make a statement sometimes, standing on his lofty seat and looking down on them. And if indeed there was an interrogation in the future, Aizen liked to be certain he was intimidating as possible. Stark would admit if only to himself that knowing Aizen could rend him limb from limb without breaking a sweat was just a bit disconcerting. He'd never show it, however.

Ulquiorra was waiting outside, face as impassive as ever. He didn't even react when Stark lifted a hand in greeting, merely moving to open the door before he'd even drawn that close.

"Yo."

"Aizen-sama is waiting," the fourth Espada replied placidly, voice a low monotone as he pushed open one of the double doors. It didn't even squeak, something which had always bothered Stark immensely.

Everything was too damn perfect. And white. By Kami, he hated white. Not that black was much better.

Stark sighed. "Ulquiorra, you really have to work on getting a personality," he commented off-handedly before passing by the other Espada and stepping into the silence of the overtly large throne room.

Ulquiorra's response was to close the door behind him with a final click. He was as uncommunicative as ever. Stark was glad to see that so little changed in Las Noches.

Stepping inside, the first Espada glanced around briefly before his eyes settled on Aizen, patiently waiting at the other end of the throne room. As expected, it was utterly empty, though he wouldn't have been surprised if Ichimaru was lurking about in the shadows. That man was damn creepy, sometimes even more so than Aizen.

"Stark," the boss greeted the moment he drew near. "I assume you were sleeping?"

Ah, he was known all too well. "Apologies, Aizen-sama," Stark replied with all the respect he could muster. Why, he even abandoned his lazy drawl. "I'll be sure to be more punctual next time."

Dark brown eyes gazed down at him with amusement but betrayed little else. "Tell me about our little project in Karakura. How is it progressing?" He leaned his chin on one hand, elbow folded against the arm of his throne.

Stark hesitated for a fraction of a second, wondering how much he should tell. And that hesitance right there was something important. He understood that. It had always been that way with him. He didn't serve Aizen first and only. He had his own mind, after all.

"Slowly," he finally answered. "But I think I'm getting closer."

The lord inclined his head. "How close?"

Stark gestured vaguely, resisting the urge to shift from foot to foot in discomfort. "Well, Kurosaki's a stubborn kid. I'm working to win his trust for now. Then he'll be more inclined to listen to me. He's loyal once you get that trust."

Too loyal, Stark remarked to himself. And far too trusting once Ichigo thought you were his friend. They were good qualities, he supposed, if not a little naïve.

"I see." Aizen gazed at him, searching almost for some sort of dishonesty. "And the Shinigami?"

It seemed strange for Aizen to be asking him that sort of thing. Stark had thought the boss had his own network of spies located around Seireitei. He didn't think that Aizen would need any information on them.

Stark shook his head. "I don't know. They don't tell Ichigo much, so by proxy, I don't know much either. They haven't been around as much lately though. Probably up to something."

"And none of them have noticed your presence?" The question was far too casual.

He started to reply in the negative, thinking only of Ichigo's friends, until he remembered the shopkeeper and his dubious comments. "There was one," Stark replied carefully. He pondered just how much he should divulge without making it obvious he was hiding something. "Ichigo's master, Urahara Kisuke, but he doesn't seem to care. Seems to find it funny that I'm hanging around."

And there it was, just a tiny flinch, a flicker of interest in the lord's eyes. He recognized the name. He recognized it all too well. Stark just _knew _that Urahara was dangerous. He was instantly glad that he hadn't immediately made an enemy of the man.

"Perhaps he is biding his time," Aizen murmured aloud, and Stark had the distinct impression that he wasn't supposed to hear that comment. It was as if Aizen had known of Urahara but hadn't really expected him to make an appearance.

Finally, Aizen lowered his arm and straightened on his throne. "You know nothing of the movements of Soul Society then?"

"Aside from the fact that they are gearing up for the battle? No." He paused to consider. "They are training extensively. And a small group sticks close to Kurosaki, but otherwise, it has been quiet. Only two from Soul Society are around regularly anymore. The redhead… Abarai. And the Kuchiki girl."

"Hmm." Aizen's response was noncommittal.

He watched Stark for a moment more before he stood, signifying that their rather short audience was over. "Continue attempting to win Kurosaki-san to our side. His aid is most invaluable."

"Yes, sir."

Something flickered across Aizen's expression briefly, almost like amusement, before he turned away from Stark. "See that you do."

The final command echoed through the throne room as he vanished into the shadows behind his high, white throne. Stark was left watching his exit with a faintly uneasy feeling settling in his chest. Not that it was unusual for Aizen to want to understand the status of a mission. He just couldn't shake the feeling that all wasn't what it seemed.

Narrowing his eyes, Stark whirled on his heels and headed back towards his room. He needed to talk with Lilinette and catch up on the gossip around Las Noches. He'd obviously been spending far too much time in Karakura.

* * *

a/n: Annnnd, the story progresses at a fast clip as usual. I do hope you enjoyed! There's a couple more parts to come!


	4. What Truth They Admitted

**a/n: Ah, the response I've received from this is so inspiring. I'm terribly glad to see that you guys like this odd pairing. Enjoy the chapter! Time moves ahead quickly, as usual.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Four – What Truths They Admitted**

Despite being an Arrancar and an Espada to boot, Stark didn't really like Las Noches and Hueco Mundo by default. It wasn't like he had a choice to live there, more like the decision had been made for him. In all honesty, he despised the place. There was nothing but sand as far as the eye could see. White sand and black sky and dead, twisted trees and a single moon that never changed.

It was a world where Hollows killed each other to survive, and strength meant everything. It was a lonely, empty place dragged down by its despair and monotony. Why would anyone enjoy being here?

In contrast, the living world was much brighter. Alive and constantly in motion. And Stark found himself drawn more and more to Karakura, even outside the necessities of his mission. He no longer sought the entrapping white walls of Las Noches for a nap but a high place somewhere in the city, where the sun warmed his skin and a faint breeze brought all sorts of sounds to his ears. Definitely different from the austere silence of Las Noches.

This was one of his favorite locations, a high building that wasn't far from a gently flowing river. Perched on the edging of the roof, he could see for miles around. And on a cloudless day like this, the sky stretched above him in an endless vista. Aizen's fake blue ceiling couldn't possibly compare to the reality of what was above him.

Folding his arms behind his head, Stark settled in comfortably, drawing his reiatsu tightly around him. Not that he expected any of the Shinigami would sense him and attack. To them, he might as well have been invisible.

Four months, give or take some weeks, that was how long he'd been attempting to win Ichigo to their cause. And Stark knew by this point that it wasn't going to happen. Aizen hadn't been pressing him for updates and seemed distracted by some other plot of his, so Stark was pretty much free to do as he wished. That didn't really explain why he still stuck around the teen though, teaching him things, becoming his lover.

He never would have expected that. But as he'd suspected, there was something gravitating about Ichigo. Something that couldn't be ignored and drew one in without giving a choice in the matter. And Stark had been effectively snared so to speak, just as Urahara had warned.

Of course, Stark wasn't sure if he should term it "snared" at this point or simply very interested. He found himself time and again in Karakura, seeking out Ichigo and not for the sake of his so-called mission. Certainly, spending nights in the teen's bed was well outside the necessities for Aizen's plan. He did it anyway.

There was nothing quite like waking up---

What the hell was that?

Stark shot upwards, eyes popping open as two bursts of reiatsu surged and collided on the edge of his senses. He was on his feet within seconds, perched on the railing of the roof and peering into the distance. He could see nothing, but with the way his senses were buzzing, it was definitely a battle.

Frowning, Stark concentrated, only to suck in a sharp breath. Ichigo. Definitely. He'd recognize that reiatsu anywhere. And the second one was an Espada. Not just any but Barragan, the second. And judging from the feel of their rippling reiatsu clashing with Ichigo's becoming more and more rattled, they were fighting. What the hell was he doing here?

Worry crashed over Stark, and he quickly leapt from the roof and over to the next one. He let his instincts guide him, each step a quick burst of sonido. Barragan shouldn't have been anywhere near the living world! The old bastard hated leaving Las Noches for anything less than sheer destruction. And he despised taking orders from Aizen, especially for any sort of lowly mission. What did he think he was doing?

The fact that Ichigo was no match for Barragan, even in his current state, was a worrying buzz on the back of Stark's senses.

Barragan wasn't even trying, reiatsu expenditure pitiful compared to the effort Ichigo put forward. The Vizard was already in bankai – the first surge of reiatsu Stark had felt. And he suspected at any moment, Ichigo would resort to his Vizard abilities. That was troublesome as he still wasn't under complete control of them. There was no telling how long he would actually last.

Stark put on a burst of sonido, taking huge leaps across Karakura as he tracked the two fighters. He knew he was close when he passed through a haze of dust and smoke and heard the rumble of things crashing. There was another sharp, frantic spike of Ichigo's reiatsu; he was desperate. Stark forced himself to hurry.

A few seconds later, he arrived on a rooftop to find himself surrounded by crumpled buildings and the sharp smell of released reiatsu in the air. Ozone like a sky split by lightning. And below him on the street, Barragan had Ichigo by the face, massive palm gripping the teen's head with a dark cero building in his fingertips. Ichigo looked to be barely struggling, body covered in blood that dripped down to the pavement.

Anger unlike anything Stark had ever felt before invaded his very being. And he didn't think; he just reacted. A burst of sonido and he blurred in the air. He grabbed Ichigo out of Barragan's hold and lifted one hand, deflecting the powerful cero all in the same instant. It careened off into the sky, a dark display of reiatsu that exploded somewhere in the distance.

Ichigo groaned in his hold, stirring faintly but otherwise limp against him. Stark cursed under his breath, the smell of blood that much stronger around his senses. He angled his body so that it was between the two and found himself glaring at the second Espada. His palm tingled beneath the glove, blackened around the edges from the force of Barragan's cero.

"Stark," the old bastard growled in surprise, drawing back. "What the do you think you're doing?"

His fingers unconsciously tightened around Ichigo. "I should ask you the same thing," Stark replied, tone utterly cold though still deceptively polite. "The boss wanted him alive."

Barragan snorted derisively and cast a disdainful look in Ichigo's direction. "We don't need a brat like him. It's better to kill him now."

His anger burned brighter, forming a cold pit in his belly that was slowly hardening with resolve. "No."

The second Espada was startled, bushy eyebrows raising in surprise. "Are you stopping me?"

"The boss won't approve--"

"To hell with that!" Barragan slashed a hand through the air, eyes narrowing as reiatsu began to ripple around him in obvious threat. "You're protecting that kid! Are you siding with the Shinigami now, Primera?"

It was a smooth move and well calculated for Barragan to remind him of his rank, as much as he loathed to admit it. Stark hadn't known Barragan had the craftiness within him. Yet, he should have known. Barragan's aspirations had always been higher than his skill, and he had always despised Stark for his position. Frankly, the other Espada questioned whether Aizen had sent him at all.

He hesitated for an instant searching for a response. And was surprised when the answer came to him with no prompting at all. Falling from his lips as though it were as natural as breathing, echoing a sentiment he had heard so many times before.

"I care nothing for the Shinigami," Stark replied harshly because it was the utter truth. He despised the Shinigami and Soul Society. And yet... "I'm only protecting what's important to me."

And that was just the truth of it, wasn't it?

In the end, all he cared about was this new relationship, which had somehow gotten under his skin. Ichigo who was so naively honest and independent. Determined and resolute. He couldn't just stand there and watch Barragan kill him, orders or not. He _couldn't_. He _wouldn't_.

Stark realized with a dawning sense of clarity that he had just crossed a line. And all without every knowing he had been treading it. A fence of indecision, hovering in dubiety between one side or the other. Except there wasn't a side for him. There was just Ichigo.

"I knew it," Barragan hissed, something like triumph glimmering in his aged gaze. "And Aizen knew it, too. Why else would I be here?"

He felt himself freeze, the feeling of being enclosed within the clamped jaws of a trap stirring around him. "Aizen--"

"--suspected things weren't going quite to plan. And he thought this might draw you out." Barragan sneered and tipped his head to the side as he gave Ichigo another disgusted look. "Looks like I was right. We'll be needing a new Primera."

"And you serve to benefit the most," Stark commented snidely, figuring that would be the only reason Barragan would obey Aizen without any sort of protest.

In his hold, Ichigo twitched, a small groan leaving his lips. Stark momentarily glanced down at him, alarmed at the sight of blood that was dripping to the ground and staining the white of his own clothing. A hand reached out to grasp onto Stark's arm with surprising strength.

"M'fine," Ichigo slurred, trying to peel open his eyes. "I can still--"

"Shut up," Stark muttered, both loving and hating Ichigo for his determination. Dammit, why couldn't the kid see when it was time to cut his losses and live to fight another day?

Reiatsu rippled dangerously from Barragan's direction, the other Espada through with talking. "It will be my pleasure to remove you from Aizen's service," he snarled and leapt at Stark, another cero burning in his hands.

Stark didn't think, just reacted. Throwing Ichigo over a shoulder and leaping backwards. He cursed the situation, where he was distinctly at a disadvantage. Barragan was no easy match for him, even at full strength, and now, he was worried about protecting Ichigo, who needed medical attention. And fast.

A roof shingle crunched beneath his foot, but he barely had time to rest his weight before he was dodging again. Something exploded in their wake as the weight of Barragan's reiatsu crashed into the building. One of Ichigo's hands clutched at the back of Stark's clothes, gripping tightly. He could feel the warmth of Ichigo's blood seeping into the fabric. Dammit! What had Barragan done, ripped out his side?

"Kurosaki-kun!"

"Ichigo!"

Stark whirled at the familiar voices and nearly fell from the rooftop. He caught sight of Ichigo's friends but was forced to abruptly turn and block Barragan's next attack. His arm rung from the force of the blow, and the roof cracked beneath him.

That big-chested girl and the big guy were running their direction, and not too far away, Stark could sense the Quincy brat, too. Never had he been happier to see Ichigo's friends than he was now.

Tightening his hold on Ichigo briefly, Stark aimed a high kick out at Barragan, catching him in the shoulder. It would only give him a second's pause, but it would be all he needed. In the next moment, Stark had hefted Ichigo and tossed him down to the big guy, who gave a look of surprise but caught Ichigo anyway.

He wasn't under any illusion that he could defeat Barragan easily. In fact, Stark only wanted to drive him off. Ichigo's safety was all that mattered to him, and boy was that an eye-opener.

"Take care of him!" Stark called out and threw himself at Barragan, the force of the tackle sending them careening over the edge.

* * *

Ichigo when injured was pathetically easy to track down or maybe it just seemed that way to Stark. Besides, he could have guessed where his lover was, even if he wasn't losing control of his reiatsu and sending out beacons. Why wasn't Urahara doing anything to conceal that? He should know at least that much.

Frowning, Stark slipped to the building next to the shouten and dropped silently into the front yard. He winced as the landing jarred a still healing injury, something he hadn't been able to treat as he couldn't return to Las Noches and didn't exactly have a bevy of friends located in Karakura. Stark had wrapped a stray piece of cloth around it, which had slowed the bleeding somewhat. The rest would have to heal on its own, but for now, he wanted to see Ichigo.

Or to be truthful, wanting didn't really describe it. He had to see Ichigo, needed to see him. The last time he'd seen his lover, the Vizard was dripping blood everywhere, barely conscious. He'd been on the edge of death, and Stark hadn't been able to do anything for him.

Pulling his reiatsu tightly around him, effectively concealing his presence, Stark walked right up to the front door. Urahara recognized him at this point anyway. And so did all of his employees. He might as well be--

Senses screaming, Stark took a step backwards, easily avoiding the zanpakutou that had tried to decapitate him. He pressed a hand against his side, where a jab of pain shot through him, and wisely backed up another pace until he stood in the yard once more. He'd nearly forgotten how protective Ichigo's friends could be.

"What the hell do ya think yer doin' here, Espada!" the pineapple-headed moron – Abarai – demanded as he stepped out of the Shouten. It was he who had attacked Stark, unsurprising as he was the most hotheaded of Ichigo's loyal following.

Things would have been so much easier if he could just smash his way through, but unfortunately, no doubt there was a line-up of protective friends just behind the idiot. Ah, and there went one now.

"I didn't think Aizen would be so bold as to send his lackey here again so soon," a petite girl announced, stepping out from behind the pineapple. This girl's name he actually knew – Rukia – because Ichigo mentioned her frequently. Well, he'd probably named the busty chick, too, but Stark pick and chose what he wanted to remember.

It really sucked that Ichigo wouldn't appreciate him beating the crap out of his friends. It would have been that much simpler to get to him if he didn't have to wade through the over-protectiveness of the boy's companions. And he wondered if the truth would have any effect or if they'd even believe him.

Drawing up straight, despite the pain it caused the rip in his side – Barragan_ really_ enjoyed tearing off pieces of flesh – Stark affected a lazy nonchalance. "If I wanted to harm Ichigo, I would have done it weeks ago."

And look! More were making an appearance! What luck! The tall kid loomed out of the shadows behind the two Shinigami but didn't do anything more than stand in the doorway, seeming menacing. Stark sincerely hoped that the Quincy brat wasn't anywhere nearby. He seemed like the type to shoot first and ask questions later. Things would have been a lot easier if he hadn't gotten attached to Ichigo, Stark realized.

The Arrancar, watching the Shinigami closely, noticed as the redhead's hand tightened around the hilt of his zanpakutou.

"Then what the fuck are you doing here?" Abarai snarled.

"I came to see Ichigo." Honesty was the best policy, especially since it resulted in such an amusing shade of anger to take over the redhead's expression.

Rukia bristled, eyes narrowing coldly. "Why?" she demanded and looked to be reaching for her own blade as well, though significantly more cautious about it. She was very obviously the brighter of the two. More calculating. More dangerous.

"So you can kill him in person?" the other Shinigami inserted with another jerky step forward, restrained only by the touch on his arm. He was holding back but just barely, body trembling with desire to attack.

Admirable but foolish. Stark would have wiped the floor with him and left a tacky, red stain behind. Honestly, he could've taken all three of them – even with the Quincy kid – on at once and walked away with a few scratches at the worst. Not that it would be fun or anything with his gushing side and all.

He sighed. This was getting really annoying. And the pulsing in his side wasn't helping. Stark could feel the blood seeping through his bandages, dripping down his side beneath his clothes. Soon, it would bleed through the white, betraying his weakness to all of them.

"Listen, kid," he began, gathering patience from an infinite well he had accrued and using the same tone one would with a particularly belligerent child. As he'd often used with Grimmjow in fact. "I mean Ichigo no harm, okay? And even if I did, you couldn't stop me."

It was amusing to watch the colors shift across the redhead's face. From white to pink and then to full blown crimson with fury. He growled like a caged tiger in his throat.

"You little--"

"Stark."

His name said in a weary tone of voice and very nearly sounding like a command floated from the entranceway behind the tall kid. Who obediently offered an arm out for help that was declined.

"Quit goading Renji."

Ah, so that was the redhead's other name.

Relief like nothing Stark had ever felt swept through him as he watched his lover stagger out of the shouten, though he carried himself with pride. His upper half was swathed in bandages, the lower half wearing nothing but hakama and tabi. A few squares of white were patched to his face, and his jaw seemed like it was going to have a nasty bruise later, but he'd never looked more beautiful to Stark than in that moment. He'd been two steps away from dead when the Arrancar had seen him last.

He ignored the way Ichigo's friends were gaping at him, and a smile slipped onto his face, reserved for his lover alone. "But it seems like so much fun," he drawled. Mushy words were far from his style.

Behind Ichigo, footsteps hurried down the hall. "Kurosaki-kun!" The busty chick emerged out of the shouten with a harried and concerned look on her face. "You should be in bed. Your injuries--"

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, which flickered through his hair, still crusted to one side with his own blood. "I'm fine, Inoue. You're the one who healed me."

The girl, in the midst of protesting once more, blushed to the roots of her ginger-colored hair. She nodded mutely, stammering something along the lines of acceptance. Really, how could Ichigo _not_ know she was hopelessly in love with him?

Renji chose to ruin that moment by whirling towards the Vizard, caught in indecision. "Ichigo, you know this guy?" he spluttered, unable to comprehend the situation for himself.

"Not guy. Espada," Stark corrected, a bit miffed at the casual dismissal of his presence. "Stark… to be more precise." It was ironic though, considering he hadn't bothered to remember their names.

The redhead twisted back towards him, fixing Stark with a furious glare. He was like a dog with its hackles raised, growling to protect personal property. Seriously. How could Ichigo not see just how much these people cared for him?

It baffled the mind.

Stark seriously couldn't help the smirk that slid onto his lips, an unusual bout of possessiveness touching him in that moment. "And of course he does," he added. "We're lovers."

Stunned silence followed that admission. You could have heard Szayel's pants drop in that moment. There was a strangled sound that could have been a gasp come from someone; Stark couldn't make out who. But several jaws dropped in shock, and Renji… well, he went white as a sheet.

Ichigo, however, was not amused. "Stark!" he growled warningly, taking a step forward and wobbling just a bit. Tall kid grabbed his elbow and steadied him. But Stark didn't mind him so much.

"I'm just telling them the truth," he replied and caught his lover's gaze as he shrugged. "They might as well know."

"It's none of their business!" Ichigo returned, and the pink taking over his cheeks had nothing to do with anger but more with pure embarrassment. It was rather cute. Stark wanted to tackle him then and there, injuries and audience aside.

Rukia, who had been quietly watching the proceedings, chose that moment to capture Ichigo's attention. "He's telling the truth?"

"But… I... Kurosaki-kun… I don't..." the busty chick – Inoue, dammit, why couldn't he remember? – stammered in the background, looking very hurt.

And for a moment, Stark regretted the rather callous outburst. It had been meant to piss off Renji. But in the process, he'd inadvertently broken a young girl's heart.

Ichigo squirmed under all the attention, unwilling to lie, a bit embarrassed of the truth, and none too fond of airing his personal business to everyone. And he was dropping, very obviously not completely healed. Come to think of it, Stark was feeling just a little exhausted himself.

"I think," a voice announced from behind all of them, causing the whole crowd gathered in front of the shop to turn around. Urahara stood in the doorway, the look on his face a cross between amusement and gravity. "That we should take this inside. You all are drawing attention to my shop. And well, it's not of the good sort."

"Ah, I'm sorry, Urahara-san!" Inoue was quick to apologize, the hurt in her eyes unchanged as she rushed for the house. Likely seeking any escape.

The shopkeeper inclined his head, stepping aside to let her pass. "And it appears Primera-san is in need of some medical attention." His gaze found Stark's, flickering briefly over his frame.

"It's just a flesh wound," Stark replied glibly, despite the numbness that was beginning to attack his extremities. He didn't dare look down, not wanting to know just how much blood he was dripping on the ground.

"You idiot." Ichigo made a motion as though he intended to move forward, but his body wouldn't quite support his intentions. "Get your ass in here and get Inoue to heal you."

Stark winced. "I don't think--"

A fan mysteriously appeared in Urahara's hand with a loud snap as he popped it open. "Oh, Tessai's free. He'll look after it for you. Sado-kun, take Kurosaki-kun back to his room before he collapses."

The tall kid – Sado, he had a name, too! – grunted in acknowledgment of what was pretty much a command and hauled Ichigo with him back into the shouten. Ichigo sputtered and protested the whole while, and the door almost closed on his annoyance.

Shadowed eyes then pinned themselves on the Shinigami. "Abarai-san, Kuchiki-san, I would appreciate it if you didn't begin any fights on my property." His words were polite but cautionary, and even Stark could feel the subtle reiatsu prodding that accompanied the request.

"Che." Renji snorted and sheathed his zanpakutou, tossing Stark another warning glare for good measure. He warred with himself for several long minutes before turning on his heel and stalking back into the shouten, large shoulders drawn with anger.

Rukia cast Stark an appraising glance, her, blue eyes betraying nothing before she turned and followed Renji. Stark highly suspected that she was saving her words for later, when she would actually have freedom to speak without being bulldozed by the redhead's reckless and loud protests.

With his front lot mostly cleared of tension, Urahara snapped his fan shut and eyed Stark from beneath the rim of his hat. "Well, Primera-san, if you would follow me...?"

He really didn't have much else of a choice; Stark had nowhere else to go. He faked a strength he did not have and forced his body to take the necessary steps forward. He ached, and he felt a little light-headed, but that was to be expected considering the blood loss. His right waraji squished as he walked; no doubt from the liquid that had accumulated there.

"I do have a name," he reminded the shopkeeper as he stepped by the man and into his shop, pausing momentarily to wait for Urahara.

There was a click as the door shut and a lock slid into place. "I know," Urahara replied, and his cane tapped against the floor as he moved around Stark, successfully navigating the front portion of his store.

For all intents and purposes, it actually looked like a regular candy shop here. The sickly sweet smell of sugar and confectioneries was strong. And colorful pieces of candy were arranged neatly in their cases.

"You've never used it," Stark pointed out, mostly to keep conversation and not look pathetic by passing out in a heap of blood and cloth on the floor.

Urahara's lips quirked into a smile. "That I haven't," he returned and headed towards the door in the back of the shop. "Follow me, Primera-san."

The bastard was doing it on purpose. Stark ground his teeth and decided not to make an issue of it. He still had no proof, but he was certain there was something dangerous about Urahara. He couldn't be sure he'd emerge alive from a scuffle with the man or even fully intact.

He followed Urahara though he was quite familiar with the layout of the shouten and was led to one of the first doors on the hall. It was one that was usually empty, but at the moment, Tessai was within and waiting for them.

"Tessai will take care of you, Primera-san." Urahara gestured for him to enter.

Stark paused in the entryway, leaning to glance down the hallway. "Where's Ichigo?"

"Injuries first, the rest later." His smile was tight, polite but restrained. "You dropped quite a bombshell on them, Primera-san. Let Kurosaki-san explain things first."

He thought about protesting, but a wave of dizziness chose that moment to sweep through him. It took every effort to simply remain standing and not betray his weakness. So Stark merely inclined his head. Urahara did have a point.

Stark stepped into the room and lowered himself down to the mat at Tessai's insistence, trying not to wince as large, yet gentle hands helped him carefully work off his clothes. They were sticking to the gouge, despite the bandages he had applied.

"Ah, this is a nasty wound." The large man clucked his tongue in disapproval.

The floor creaked as Urahara shifted position in the doorway, watching them closely. "Yes. Luckily, I anticipated such a thing and already researched the best way to heal an Arrancar."

Stark grimaced as the last of the blood-soaked cloth peeled away with a gummy noise. "Come now, Urahara-san, I doubt luck had anything to do with it."

"Perhaps." The shopkeeper tipped his head and turned away from them with the soft sounds of bare feet padding over a wood floor.

He left Stark there, not that he was worried about his safety or anything, and a comfortable silence fell in the room. Stark pondered as Tessai poked and prodded at his side, cleaning it first with the tingling warmth of healing quick to follow. The silence was fine with him as he didn't feel like talking, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could hear bits and pieces of the conversation in the next room. Ichigo's reiatsu was finally calming to an extent, though it was a bit frazzled at the moment.

Stark found himself in a unique if not difficult situation. Aizen had washed his hands of him; that was clear enough. He highly doubted that Barragan was lying, though it wasn't beyond the second Espada's capabilities. It wasn't his style. But why would Aizen just send Barragan? Surely, Aizen would know that Barragan alone wasn't enough to kill Stark. Unless, of course, he had ordered more but Barragan in his pride had left the help behind. Or worse, he was only after Ichigo, assuming that the Shinigami would do him a favor in disposing of Stark.

That was a nasty thought right there.

He had no intentions of letting the Shinigami destroy him nor did he plan on joining them against Aizen either. Let them fight their own war. Stark cared nothing for it. What he did care for, however, was sitting in the next room over. And Ichigo was going to be fighting. Stark highly doubted he could convince his lover to sit out; Ichigo was rather stubborn like that. Which meant he would have to stay by Ichigo's side. The kid was powerful, yeah, but throw him at Ulquiorra – possibly even Nnoitra – and he'd get ground into mincemeat. Proof of that was how easily Barragan had nearly killed him.

Stark's hands curled into fists, eyes narrowing angrily. He should have killed the bastard when he had the chance. That Barragan had escaped into a Garganta pissed him off thoroughly. Causing Ichigo to bleed, wounding him that badly, Stark should have ripped him apart. He should have done more than the few broken limbs and gashes he had left the second Espada with. Cowardly creature had fled before they could finish their fight, probably regretting the help he'd dismissed.

"Stark-san, please be still," Tessai's reprimand cut through his dialogue, and only then did Stark realize he was shaking with anger.

He forced his hands to uncurl, taking a deep and steadying breath. "Sorry," he murmured and shoved his hands onto his knees to keep them from clenching once more.

"I am almost finished," Tessai added, even as Stark felt the prickle-tingling of his wound gradually pulling itself together.

Stark sighed. "That's a relief." He resolved to be still, even as he strained his hearing to eavesdrop on the next room.

Ichigo's reiatsu was troubled, a bit strained but determined and resolute. The others held a jumbled mélange of confusion, disbelief, dismay. There were a few broken hearts in there. Though Stark doubted Ichigo would even be able to tell. His lover was adorably blind in that regard.

No doubt they were cornering him, demanding the truth. Asking if it was his choice or if Stark had forced him into it. No doubt they were trying to change his mind, to convince Ichigo that he had made a bad decision. An Arrancar, even one as strong as an Espada, was hardly suitable for their precious Ichigo. Well, Stark didn't care. Ichigo was his, and he wasn't letting go anytime soon.

Ever.

The feeling of a warm reiatsu against his skin abruptly vanished, leaving him with a faintly cold sensation.

"I am finished, Stark-san," Tessai rumbled and shifted away as he gathered his medical supplies.

Stark rose to his feet, nodding appreciatively at the complete lack of pain. He bowed his head to the other man in thanks. For some reason, he felt like a Shinigami but certainly didn't look like one. Not that the Arrancar cared as long as Tessai didn't try to skewer him.

"I appreciate it," Stark replied because although he didn't like Shinigami he still knew when to offer a polite thanks. Besides, Tessai and Urahara might have been Shinigami once upon a time, but they certainly weren't on Soul Society's favored son's list.

The older man gave him a look that couldn't easily be interpreted, expression hidden by the glint of his glasses. "Take care of him," was all that Tessai said as he gathered his supplies into his arms.

It was pretty self-explanatory, really.

"I will," Stark returned, but it was said to an empty room, the busy assistant already bustling down the hall.

Scratching at his goatee, Stark cast around the room for his shirt, but Tessai must have taken it with him or something because he couldn't see it anywhere. Oh, well. It wasn't in the best condition anyway, being tattered and blood-stained. It wasn't as if he had any modesty either. Shrugging, Stark abandoned the rather bare room and padded quietly down the corridor, determined to seek out Ichigo.

He followed his lover's annoyed reiatsu and the sound of voices, all talking at once so that they were an indistinguishable chorus of noise. He distinctly heard "Aizen" and "Hollow" several times, as well as a few choice curse words that were peppered by jealousy. And Ichigo's irritation was rising higher, colored a deepening crimson. Stark arrived at the door just as the Vizard's wavering patience reached an abrupt end, his already barely contained reiatsu rippling at the walls of the shouten.

"You guys are pissing me off!" Ichigo shouted.

Stark nearly collided with him at the door, his lover in the midst of storming out of it. Fuming, Ichigo ground to an abrupt halt at the Espada-shaped obstacle in his path. He blinked, eyes widening in surprise.

"Stark?"

The first Espada should have said something witty. Instead, he was filled with this great sense of relief and want. So instead, he kept his silence and reached up with a still-gloved hand, grasping Ichigo's chin gently. Lowering his head, he kissed the teenager with little warning, the gesture soft but claiming.

His tongue swept across Ichigo's lips, which parted in his shock, allowing Stark entrance. He tasted surprise and blood, but beneath it all, the inherent, intoxicating flavor of Ichigo himself. Something indescribable. The teen made a noise in his throat, tentatively returning the kiss before seemingly forgetting the audience and participating wholeheartedly.

This, Stark realized, this was the reason he had thrown himself between Barragan and Ichigo without a second thought. This was why he had turned his back on Aizen in that one swift motion. Ichigo – this teenager, this Vizard, this Shinigami… this whatever he was that didn't really matter because he was only Ichigo to Stark.

He ended the kiss with a parting nip to Ichigo's lips, pale eyes sliding past his lover to sweep appraisingly over those gathered in the room. "Ichigo is mine," he stated challengingly. "Whether you like it or not."

Collectively, several jaws dropped, faces flushing with anger. Renji appeared to be barely holding himself back, and Rukia's eyes were narrowed disapprovingly. Inoue stared at the ground, as though willing it to swallow her completely, and gnawing on her bottom lip. And Stark couldn't read the expression in Sado's face, the tall kid too stoic for his own good.

Ichigo subtly tugged his face free from Stark's hold, his cheeks burning with realized embarrassment. "Stark!" he hissed, but it was the most chastisement he could manage.

The Espada shrugged offhandedly, returning his gaze to his lover. "Las Noches is no longer my home. This war isn't mine to fight."

"He's a Hollow, Ichigo," A voice bit out tightly, and Stark belatedly recognized it as belonging to Rukia, the female's hands tightly clenched on her knees. She was hurt as well, much like Inoue, though she hid her pain much better. "I don't understand."

"And I have one in me," Ichigo retorted, though it galled him to have to explain his own choices to someone else. "What's the difference?"

The words dropped heavily and weren't easily digested. The humans seemed more comfortable with Ichigo's decision, though Inoue still struggled with her own emotions. The Shinigami, however, wanted to argue.

"So what," Renji inserted belligerently. "You're gonna fight for us now?"

Stark snorted, the very idea laughable. "Hell, no. I'd rather gouge out my eye than fight for the _Shinigami_." He sneered.

"Then--"

"I have my own reasons, which are none of your business," he interrupted, growing rather tired of their queries himself. He needed sleep, and he wasn't planning on doing so alone. Ichigo too was wavering on his feet.

It was plainly obvious that his answer was not sufficient for them, but before anyone could stage a protest, a voice poured into the room from behind Stark. It shocked the hell out of him because he hadn't _felt_ anyone there, and it took all of his control not to leap two feet in the air. As it were, he barely managed a casual glance over his shoulder.

"I think that is enough questioning for the day," Urahara stated, smile coolly polite as he inclined his head. "It is getting late."

"A wise idea," Stark intoned solemnly, and before anyone could react, he grabbed Ichigo's hand and pulled his lover after him. "I'll just borrow this room, if you don't mind," he threw over his shoulder and headed for the one he had used earlier.

"Keep it," Urahara replied after him. "I've gotten used to freeloaders."

There was an indignant sound from behind them, likely from Renji. It was the last that Stark heard as he pulled Ichigo into the room and slid the door shut with a quiet snick, finally giving him some peace with his lover. Really, it was all that Stark wanted.

"I'm yours, huh?" Ichigo commented, sweeping his gaze over the sparse room. Despite his fatigue, there was a hint of amusement in his expression.

"Didn't we already establish this?" Stark rubbed his fingers over the inside of Ichigo's wrist, which he had yet to relinquish.

With a sharp tug, Ichigo pulled Stark towards him, surprising the Espada with the abrupt motion. "It's news to me."

A tongue snaked out, touching briefly against the remnants of Stark's mask, causing a shiver of want to creep up his spine. Warm breath ghosted across his collarbone. He tipped his head back, despite his fatigue, giving Ichigo more room to work with.

"Really?"

"Mmm." Teeth nipped at his exposed throat. "We both know it's the other way around."

Stark chuckled. "If you say so," he replied and dragged Ichigo into a possessive kiss.

* * *

a/n: Ah, another chapter done and out. And at last! We have some realizations of feelings. But if you're looking for those three big words to be said in this story, you won't see them. It's all implied in actions.

Well, I hope you enjoyed still! There's another chapter soon to come. Thanks for reading, and I look forward to your comments!


	5. Why They Said Goodbye

**a/n: Wow! Again with the response. I love you guys! Also, thanks to all those anonymous people that I can't thank personally. I love each and every review I receive. They warm my heart. **

**Please enjoy!**** Oh, and there's more of that boysmut stuff here. Be warned!  
**

* * *

**Chapter Five – Why They Said Goodbye**

For all the tension and all the waiting, the war came to a surprising, sudden end. Brutal but quick and with no regard to all that had been invested in preparations.

A large clash between Aizen's Espada and Yamamoto's Gotei 13 was the epitome, the ultimate battle. Blood rained from the sky, and everywhere, the world shook at each clash of reiatsu. Lives were lost, buildings destroyed, each moment a desperate grab at victory.

In the end, however, it was the Shinigami who had emerged triumphant. Their victory was given by the machinations of a traitor who had stabbed his former captain in the back before taking his own life in turn. No one knew or understood why. And as the parties involved were dead, it would forever remain a mystery.

Stark, however, couldn't really find it in him to care either way. If Aizen won or the Shinigami won, it hadn't mattered to him. He had no place in their victory.

True to his word, Stark took little active part in the war. Instead, he would always be found at Ichigo's side, watching his lover's back. Preventing several of his former comrades from sticking their zanpakutou in it. He didn't dare interfere with Ichigo's battles or ask him to stay out of things. He wasn't so foolish as to think Ichigo would actually listen to him. Even if anger was a cute color on Ichigo's face.

Soul Society hadn't been too happy to see an Espada next to their special substitute and had been even less pleased to learn of their relationship. Of course, that was thrust aside when they caught Ichigo shifting into his Hollow powers in the middle of the battlefield. Stark had warned his lover about that, but the teen was reckless. So long as he won the battle, he didn't care what truth Soul Society discovered. Or perhaps it was that he just didn't think about it. Probably more the latter.

Aizen's defeat granted them some respite from Soul Society. Too occupied with the fallout from Aizen's loss and what had to be done with Las Noches and the lingering remnants of his army, they didn't have the manpower to spare for focusing on Ichigo and his Espada lover. Small favors, Stark supposed.

As long as it meant he didn't have to abandon Ichigo's side for another few weeks, Stark was more than happy to leave them to their business. He had the feeling that whatever Soul Society decided in the end, it wouldn't be beneficial for either of them. Nor would he be so willing to agree. He planned on getting as much time with Ichigo as he could, hiding his concerns beneath his usual calm exterior. The last thing he wanted to do was worry his lover, especially if they only had a brief time left. He didn't need Ichigo doing anything reckless.

And he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Ichigo would inevitably perform some sort of daring, reckless rescue of a sort. He'd done it before for a woman who was practically a stranger. He wouldn't hesitate to do it for his lover. And while Ichigo was a powerful Vizard, not even he could stand up to the combined might of the Gotei 13, no matter how many of them would claim to be on his side.

At the moment, however, Stark wasn't thinking about any of that.

"Stark!"

No, he had his mind on other and far more important things.

"What?" he replied innocently, rocking his hips forward in a very small movement that was unsatisfying for both parties. He was teasing himself as much as he was teasing Ichigo.

Brown eyes glared at him, darkened by want. "Move, dammit," he cursed, and the muscles in his arms rippled invitingly from where they were pinned above his head. They were bound by a thin strip of cloth and wound about the blade of Stark's zanpakutou, which had been thrust through the wooden floor. Surely, Urahara wouldn't mind. Much.

Ichigo looked utterly sexy like that. Debauched even. His body covered in a sheen of sweat and straining, desperately trying to make Stark move. He'd been keeping his younger lover on the edge for several long minutes now, pushed deep inside of Ichigo but not moving. He concentrated on the feel of the teen pulsing around him, tight and hot, pulling him deeper.

"But you're so sexy when you beg," Stark returned casually, running a bare hand over Ichigo's thigh, the Vizard's legs on either side of him.

Ichigo arched his back, planting his feet on the ground and attempting to force Stark to thrust. "Stubborn… gah!"

He fell back, panting and glaring at Stark, a hot blush staining the tops of his cheeks. "I think you get off on seeing me helpless," Ichigo muttered.

"Mmm." Stark hummed low in his throat, putting his palm on Ichigo's taut belly and rubbing it across the hot skin, watching with intense interest as Ichigo shivered in want. "You might be right."

"Pervert!" Ichigo accused with a faint gasp escaping his mouth as Stark's other hand curled around Ichigo's arousal, stroking him once. He rocked into the teasing touch, shoulders straining quite attractively.

Stark chuckled, his fingers moving upwards and flicking over a peaked nipple. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Brown eyes, edged with gold now, narrowed. "Move," Ichigo demanded with an edge of promise in his tone. His jaw set tightly.

He gave the appearance of considering it before shaking his head. "I don't think that I will," Stark replied with a lusty grin.

In all honesty, he should have seen the next bit coming. Ichigo had always been a rather impatient young man, and he never was one to take things lying down.

Ichigo growled low in his throat, exasperation and desire mixed into the sexy noise. It sent shivers down Stark's spine. But in that same instant, he twisted and jerked his wrists against the bindings, snipping them perfectly on the edge of Stark's zanpakutou.

The former Espada had all of a moment to be impressed before Ichigo surged upwards in a rather inspiring and flexible maneuver, twisting out from under him and practically tackling Stark. He ended up flat on his back, landing against the softness of his mattress, with his young lover straddling him, a rather smug look on his face. Ichigo's hands were splayed across his chest, holding him in place.

"I think that's what I like about you the most," Stark purred, hands settling on Ichigo's hip as his lover positioned himself appropriately, guiding Stark back inside him once more.

"What?" Ichigo panted, somewhat distracted. He licked his lips, sinking down on Stark's arousal and rocking his hips teasingly, much to Stark's enjoyment.

He skated his hands up Ichigo's side, feeling the warmth of his skin, occasionally dotted with the ripple of some scar or another. "You follow your own rhythm," the Arrancar replied, his hands journeying back down to squeeze Ichigo's hips gently.

Brow furrowing, Ichigo flexed his thighs and lifted himself up to drop back down again. "That doesn't make any sense," he muttered, a sharp pant escaping his lips.

"It does to me." Stark groaned, head falling back against the pillow and causing his hair to sprawl loosely around him. "Damn, you feel good." His fingers flexed against Ichigo's skin, feeling the strength of those muscles beneath his touch.

"Would be better if you'd damn _move_," Ichigo growled, one hand flattening out against Stark's chest for balance as the other dropped to his own aching shaft, seeking his much-denied release.

"You're too impatient," Stark returned with a heated chuckle and finally began to move.

He thrust upwards in the same moment that Ichigo shifted down. Their bodies collided with an erotic pulse, and both moaned, the sound echoing lightly in the rather small room. Heat spread through Stark's limbs, his body registering nothing but _want, want, want_, even as he gripped Ichigo harder. Their movements were finally in sync.

Stark really enjoyed these positions the best. He could see every expression on Ichigo's face. And it was that much more erotic when their eyes met because Ichigo was looking only at _him_, and it was Stark's possessive side which desired that. Ichigo had so many who depended on him, who he cared for and protected, who gravitated around him. And he gave himself to anyone he thought needed him. So it was times like this with Ichigo moving over him and seeing only _him_, that Stark wanted the most.

One of his hands left Ichigo's hip and joined the fingers over his arousal. The teasing had been double-sided, and Stark could already feel his release hovering over him. Ichigo felt too good for his control, which he always seemed to lack around his younger lover.

They moved together, bodies in a familiar rhythm after months of intimacy. And yet, Stark couldn't seem to tire of his lover. Just when he thought he understood Ichigo, the teen confused him yet again. The same as he had all those months ago when Stark had first accepted his assignment from Aizen. Never would he have expected it would turn out like this.

He felt Ichigo clench around him and knew that the Vizard was getting close, a soft red flush taking over his cheeks. Licking his lips, Stark squeezed Ichigo's hip and thrust up into him. Ichigo gasped, fingers flexing around Stark's hold on his arousal before he moaned lowly, body hunching forward as he came. His release splattered over their combined fingers, eyes shuttered as his body shook with pleasure.

The erotic sight broke the last of Stark's already tenuous control. Surging upwards, Stark wrapped one arm around Ichigo's back and tangled his fingers in orange strands, pulling Ichigo towards him in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss. A hand clenched on his shoulder as Ichigo curled the other around his neck, closing the distance between them. Their tongues touched, and Stark moaned, his hips giving one last ragged jerk upwards before he felt his body spasm, and he spilled inside Ichigo.

Their lips met harshly before gradually shifting into something slow and sensual, bodies losing their frantic pace towards release. Stark's fingers pressed against Ichigo's back, holding him close as he enjoyed the kiss. It was a lazy embrace, their skin cooling and sticky with sweat and the remnants of their release.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

"Ichigoooooo!"

Slam!

The door to Stark's room slammed open, accompanied by a loud yell and the sound of small feet squeaking across the floor. Ichigo leapt in surprise and whipped his gaze towards the open doorway, glaring heatedly at the stuffed toy even as a blush brightened his cheeks.

"Kon! What the hell are you doing?"

The lion affected a melodramatic swoon. "Ah, nee-san, Ichigo has--" His voice was cut off as Ichigo chucked a pillow at him.

Stark shook his head and chuckled. "You're so violent." He leaned backwards and snagged a small, clean towel that he usually kept near his futon for such occasions.

"He's annoying," his lover grumbled, looking ever-so-desirable with that red tinge to his expression. He accepted the towel and put it to use, his hand swiping over Stark as well and threatening to make him stir once more.

A leg twitched beneath the weight of the pillow before it was moved upwards with a loud grunt. "Ichigo!" the plushie complained. "This is important!"

"Maybe you should listen to him," Stark suggested as he slowly pulled apart from Ichigo but not before stealing one last kiss.

Ichigo waved a hand of dismissal, wincing a bit as he started scrounging around in the piles of discarded clothing for something to wear. "He's always screaming about something or other."

Kon stomped a foot on the ground with a really annoying squeak, though Stark could only see the stuffed lion as amusing. "Fine. Then I won't tell you about the other Shinigami who are here!" Kon huffed, and crossing his arms, he attempted to storm from the room. Though the effect was lost in the wake of the noise.

In the midst of pulling on a shirt, Ichigo crossed the room and grabbed Kon by the back of the neck, leaving him dangling in mid-air. The plushie wriggled around, waving his fists helplessly at Ichigo.

"Hey! Ow! Put me down!"

"What do you mean other Shinigami?" Ichigo demanded and gave Kon a little shake.

Stark listened intently, pulling on his own clothing. It wasn't much more than a yukata and under-robe, something he'd borrowed from the geta-boushi since he hadn't had any desires to continue wearing the white clothes of Aizen's Espada. Besides, he looked rather good in it, if he didn't say so himself. He'd even foregone the gloves, since it didn't matter if he hid the symbol of his prior position or not.

With a petulant expression, strange considering he was just a plushie, Kon folded his arms over his chest and glared at the wall. "I tried to tell you. They're here, and they want to talk to you, Ichigo. And nii-san, too."

Ichigo blinked, confusion entering his expression. Stark, however, understood exactly what was going on. Their moments of respite had finally ended.

"Will you put me _down _now?"

Rolling his eyes, Ichigo abruptly let the stuffed lion drop to the floor. He bounced a few times before scampering out of the room, muttering under his breath about being under-appreciated and missing his "nee-san." Whoever that was.

"I wonder what the hell they want," Ichigo muttered under his breath, raking a hand over his disheveled hair.

Stark thought briefly of enlightening his lover, but since he didn't know precisely what Soul Society had in mind, he kept his suspicions to himself. Instead, he grabbed Ichigo's elbow as the teen passed him and dragged him in for a kiss.

Ichigo released a startled sound but returned the embrace anyway, submitting to the rather random kiss with his usual passive aggression. Stark's fingers briefly tightened in their hold on Ichigo's arm before he released him, parting with a lingering press of tongue against tongue.

"What? Hadn't had enough yet?" Ichigo questioned, a smirk on his lips.

"Never," Stark returned easily, just because he knew that sort of admission never failed to make Ichigo turn a little red.

Though pleased, Ichigo looked away, pretending nonchalance. "Yeah, well, we should get going. I don't want to hear them bitching that I kept them waiting."

For the briefest moment, Stark had the thought that he should grab Ichigo and just take him away. Though he hadn't the slightest idea where they would go. Just run from Soul Society and whatever they thought to do, abandon everything. But he reminded himself that Ichigo didn't belong to just him. He had his family and his friends, those he needed to protect. He couldn't demand so much from Ichigo.

Stark kept his silence and finished tying the knot in his obi. Sufficiently dressed, the two of them left the room and wandered down the hall, towards the main area where the Shinigami were no doubt waiting for them. Surprisingly, the rest of the shouten was deserted, at least to Stark's senses. Though he suspected Urahara was lurking in the shadows somewhere, observing thoughtfully.

Ichigo entered ahead of him and as a consequence saw the Shinigami first. Immediately, he scowled, even as he was greeted in a half-hearted, somewhat polite manner.

"Kurosaki Ichigo," the captain of the second division stated, flanked on either side by two of her underlings.

Stark wasn't surprised that they had sent Soifon. There were few that Yamamoto would choose to send who wouldn't immediately sympathize with Ichigo, and the old bastard wanted results.

"What are you doing here?" Ichigo made no room for pleasantries. It wasn't his style.

The woman didn't flinch, her ever-present frown in place. "Soul Society has not forgotten about your circumstances. They're aware that you're harboring one of Aizen's Espada."

"Formerly," Stark drawled, making a statement as he hovered next to Ichigo's side and met the disinterested gaze of Soifon's entourage. "I'm reformed."

"What you are is a Hollow, regardless of your current form and intelligence," Soifon corrected, one brow twitching. Her glower deepened.

Mah, she would be pretty – perhaps even beautiful – if only she smiled. Such a waste.

Ichigo growled. Stark could practically feel the annoyance rippling through his reiatsu, no matter how good he was getting at containing it. But it wouldn't be a good idea for him to antagonize the captain, so Stark put a hand on Ichigo's arm, squeezing in a quiet warning.

"That may be true," he responded, speaking before Ichigo could. "Are you saying I must then be exterminated as one?"

"Stark!" Ichigo hissed in outrage, eyes darting between Shinigami and Arrancar.

Pale eyes returned the look before shifting back to Soifon, awaiting her answer. "Perhaps," she conceded, though it was pretty damn obvious what she meant. "Soul Society would like to take your case into consideration. It may only be confinement."

Oh, because that made it so much better. Confinement or death. Neither was enticing. Not that Stark had any such plans to go along with what Soul Society wanted. He made his own choices, and no arrogant, self-righteous Shinigami was going to decide his fate for him.

"For how long?"

Ichigo started forward again, only Stark's hold on his arm keeping from making any reckless behaviors. "Stark," he growled under his breath, but he was momentarily ignored.

The captain gestured vaguely, expression unchanged. "It's hard to say. Decades?"

Not. Going. To. Happen. With a big, resounding hell-the-fuck-_no_.

Stark thumbed his chin, fingers rubbing over his goatee. "I'm sorry," he replied with a shake his head. "That's just not going to work for me."

Grey eyes narrowed, the sense of threat in the room rising considerably. "You don't have a choice in the matter," Soifon returned, and her lackeys immediately straightened, giving off a greater presence.

"Like hell he doesn't!" Ichigo interrupted angrily, his words biting and edged with the last strings of his patience.

Soifon glanced at him almost dismissively. "In light of your service to Soul Society, we will overlook your Vizard abilities, given certain stipulations, but we cannot overlook the existence of an Espada."

"Stipulations?" Ichigo repeated, and objects in the room began to rattle as he lost his tenuous grip on his composure. Brown eyes gradually shifted to gold. "That's stupid. I'm not giving him up to you."

The simple declaration warmed something inside of Stark, but he had to save the fond feelings for another time. The situation in the room was threatening to become explosive, and the last thing they needed to do was destroy the shouten. Urahara wouldn't like that at all.

Stark laughed, but it was a bitter sound and cut through the glaring contest going on between his lover and Soifon. "Soul Society certainly hasn't changed," he muttered, not that he would have expected it to. "Sorry, darling, but I'm going to have to side with Ichigo on this one. I'm not going anywhere."

Silence swept through the room, heightened by the rising tension. Ichigo struggled to get his reiatsu under control, hands clenched into furious fists. And Stark wondered if there was any way to stop the violence before it exploded.

Therefore, Soifon's sudden defeated sigh surprised them all. "You had better be grateful, Kurosaki," she suddenly spat, annoyance causing her brow to twitch. "You owe Yoruichi-sama very much."

Ichigo and Stark blinked in tandem.

"What does Yoruichi-san have to do with this?"

Glancing away, Soifon sniffed imperiously. "As a favor to her, I'm giving you the opportunity to show up on your own without dragging either of you in. This is the only chance you'll get."

"We don't need any favors," Ichigo spat, body shaking in a building rage.

Stark squeezed his arm. "When does your _opportunity _end?"

Her eyes shifted between them again, as though trying to measure something before she inclined her head. "Tomorrow. We'll expect you at the first division in the morning."

Ichigo opened his mouth, but Stark beat him to it. "Was that all then?" His smile was coolly polite, but a sense of danger reflected behind it. Even Soifon's lackeys took a small step back, though the captain herself stood her ground.

She appraised them briefly. "Yes."

"Good." Grabbing Ichigo's arm, Stark turned and headed out of the room, leaving the Shinigami to see themselves out. He pulled Ichigo along with him, his younger lover brimming with anger and scowling fiercely.

"What the hell? You're not just going to go along with this, are you?" Ichigo demanded, though he didn't attempt to stop.

"Of course not. I just wanted to hear them out. Soul Society has no right to dictate my existence for me." He cast a glance over his shoulder. "And you shouldn't let them tell you what right you have to exist either. You didn't choose to be this way, and neither did I. Besides, it's not like we go around eating souls or anything."

Ichigo's scowl deepened. "I wasn't planning to."

"Good." Stark grinned and abruptly stopped, pulling Ichigo up against him and kissing him soundly. He didn't care that they were still in the middle of the hallway.

Ichigo didn't resist, returning the embrace with equal if not stronger determination. His fingers lifted to twist in Stark's hair.

It was obvious that neither of them had any attention of doing as Soul Society asked. The words didn't really need to be said. Where they would go from here would need to be discussed.

Stark, however, knew that his decision had already been made.

* * *

The moon shone awfully brightly that night as Stark quickly noticed. He hated that it reminded him of Hueco Mundo.

Ichigo was a warm, sleeping presence beside him, though his body twitched like his dreams were anything but restful. Stark stroked a bare palm down his lover's back, nuzzling a kiss into the side of Ichigo's neck. The teen murmured something and settled down, the furrowed lines in his brow smoothing out.

He was going to be pretty damn pissed when he woke in the morning.

Stark let himself lie there for several minutes more, soaking in the warmth, before he gradually eased himself out of their bed. It took only a second of concentration for him to completely conceal his reiatsu, shoving it deep beneath so many cloaking layers that it would be impossible for anyone to sense unless they were less than two inches away from him and staring into the whites of his eyes. He dressed in the dark with only the light of the moon to help him locate his scattered clothing.

He told himself that it was the best decision for all of them. Ichigo was reckless, and the last thing Stark wanted was for him to waste his life trying to stop all of Soul Society. He'd done it before; he'd do it again. And while he had a good many allies in the Gotei 13, he had weaknesses. And Stark didn't want to see another war break out all for the sake of the one remaining Espada.

He'd rather die himself than see Ichigo do so for his sake. The kid had too much going for him whereas Stark was just an Arrancar, just an evolved Hollow. He had his pride, but Stark knew what he was. A being that shouldn't have existed but did anyway. He wasn't going to give up his existence. No one was going to take it from him, but he was also logical. He knew when to cut his losses.

Stark didn't want to call this "sneaking out." He preferred "avoiding a delicate situation."

Grabbing his zanpakutou from where it stood leaning against the wall next to Zangetsu, Stark pushed it through his obi and headed for the door. Ichigo hadn't moved the entire time, a testament to how thoroughly Stark had tired him out. He was really going to miss that kid, but then, he slid the door open quietly and stepped out into the hallway.

It was dark and still within the shouten. This late at night everyone was asleep. He could sense their quiescent reiatsu. Stark crept down the hall, steps completely silent as he headed for the main door. He passed by candy racks and pulled it open, peering into the lamp-lit night. No one around. Perfect.

"You don't understand him at all, do you, Primera-san?"

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice. It was a testament to Stark's composure that he managed to look only slightly perturbed as he turned to see Urahara-san looming in the shadows as usual. He should have known better.

Stark folded a hand in his pocket, making no immediate moves to leave or remain. "I never really claimed that."

The shopkeeper stepped out of the darkened corner and into view, though his gaze was still shadowed by his hat. "It's not that difficult. He's really a simple person beneath."

"You're going to stop me?"

His lips curled into something like a smirk. "It would do me little good. You'll leave no matter what I say. And I dare say I could never force you."

Stark never had understood this man, this former captain who still obeyed the Shinigami but was nevertheless confined to the Living World.

"He's fought enough," the Arrancar replied, remembering the feel of scars beneath his fingers. Scars no teenager should ever bear. "He's _bled_ enough."

"Hmm, that may be true." Urahara's fingers nimbly twisted his cane in his hand, watching it spin around and around in a circle. "I am sure he'll be pleased you made that choice for him."

Stark lifted his shoulders and turned towards the opened doorway. "He'll understand in time," he returned and stepped out of the shouten, already concentrating on summoning a Garganta to take him into Hueco Mundo. There really wasn't anywhere else he could go where the Shinigami would not chase him.

Geta clacked in the doorway behind him, the first true noise to break the calm silence. "That, Primera-san, is where I think you are entirely wrong."

The sky throbbed and rippled before tearing apart, revealing the endless black of the path between worlds. Only small enough for Stark to pass through and no one or nothing else. He didn't respond to the shopkeeper because Stark had nothing more to say. Hunching his shoulders and hands in his pockets, Stark stepped into the Garganta, leaving the living world and everything in it behind him.

He landed in the middle of the solitary desert, surrounded by sand and dead trees and the faint smell of ash and blood. In the distance, nearer than it seemed, the ruins of Las Noches loomed like the waste of a lost civilization. Aizen's tallest tower remained standing, but the rest was a crippled mess of white stone that was now blackened by explosions caused by both sides.

It was still going to be his home.

A few quick bursts of sonido took Stark to the remnants of Las Noches, and he walked along shattered halls. He wondered if any of his former companions had survived and now hid amongst the destruction. Some he knew for certain were dead; he hadn't seen the demise of the others. Lilinette was one of them. Had his fraccion survived? He didn't know, so that would be one of his first orders of business.

It was so much colder here, and his steps echoed hollowly as he leapt from a piece of shattered wall to a piece of a broken ceiling. Here and there, Aizen's fake blue sky still hung in place, contrasted grimly by the bits of black night that hovered nearby. And the debris still hummed faintly with reiatsu, both Shinigami and Arrancar alike.

All in all, it was a rather desolate and bleak place.

Stark sighed to himself and thought of his warm futon in the shouten, even more because Ichigo was usually in it. How strange that he had met the kid with the intention of bringing him to Aizen and found himself nowhere near his former goal. Stupid Shinigami always ripping apart the happiness of others. He knew there was a reason he despised them.

Hands in his pockets, Stark searched for the most stable building. Might as well make a relatively safe shelter. It got damn cold here at night. Not that it wasn't always night in Hueco Mundo.

* * *

a/n: One more part to go, my friends. And then this story will be complete.

On that note, I do agree with many of you. This story does have the potential to be longer, with far more depth. Strange, considering it was originally intended to be a oneshot in my drabble collection _Seireitei Monogatari_. There are so many issues beneath the surface here that could be covered. Luckily, I do have a sequel in the planning stages. It may not be exactly what you want, as it focuses on a different Espada, but Stark and Ichigo will feature prominently and *gasp* the pairing will be het. But, you might like it.

An announcement -- so you're not blind-sided-- starting next week, I will be taking a month-long hiatusin the interest of, well, actually writing something. To be honest, I don't have anything else to offer you guys, so I'm taking a month off to get something put together.

But! While you are all awaiting the new stuff I've got planned, _Seireitei Monogatari _will still get updated ANNNNND I will reopen the requests I previously closed. Now this all starts next week, so don't jump the fence and start requesting today, lol. But definitely start thinking about it. More information will be available in the next update.


	6. The End They Choose

**Title: Misguided Manipulation**

**Pairings/Characters: Stark/Ichigo**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Language, spoilers, yaoi smexiness, angst**

**Words: 1298**

**Description: ****Sent to the Living World on Aizen's orders to recruit Ichigo to his cause, Stark finds himself led astray by the orange-headed teen. What a surprise.**

* * *

**Epilogue – The End They Chose**

Stark wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and dropped down from the roof, having had enough of attempting to build for the day. It was tiring work. And it wasn't as if he'd seen a soul since coming to Las Noches several weeks before. He'd found no one in the ruins, except for a few bodies. If there had been any survivors, they were long gone. Unsurprising, considering that Hueco Mundo was vast in size.

He'd come to Las Noches mostly because it was familiar, and he wouldn't have to start from scratch. It was easier than trying to set off on his own, finding someplace new. And at least here he could scavenge something like a comfortable bed, even if it was noticeably empty at night.

Hollows rarely bothered him. Especially here. Either they recognized him for his former position, no longer obvious now that he'd found some gloves. Or they were smart enough to sense his reiatsu and steer clear.

Stark flopped down on a rescued chair; he thought it might have belonged to Ichimaru at some point. He was utterly bored. Physical labor was far from what he considered entertaining. There was no one here to spar with, something he'd always enjoyed with Ichigo. And having only himself to talk to was causing him to rapidly develop a complex.

He contemplated taking a nap. There really wasn't much else to do besides rummage through Aizen's book collection or go through the remnants of Szayel's lab. Or flick through Grimmjow's artwork. Who knew that the prickly feline could draw so well? Though a disturbing amount of it consisted of rather violent pictures. Ones that disturbed even Stark with their vividness. Had Grimmjow still been alive, Stark would have recommended therapy. Honestly, he didn't think some of those things were possible.

On the edge of his senses, however, something familiar pinged. Stark sat up straight, furrowing his brow to concentration. This reiatsu… He knew this reiatsu.

Stark rose to his feet with his usual languid grace and headed for what he was calling the door. At the moment, it was little more than scraps of fabric somehow stitched together and hung between two pieces of broken wall.

He'd no sooner stepped out of his "shelter" than he felt the presence draw uncomfortably close, as if being led by some invisible string. Reiatsu surged and then suddenly, Ichigo was standing before him, panting a little from exertion.

Startled, Stark could only blink in his surprise. "Ichi--"

In all honesty, he should have seen the strike coming. As it were, Stark's reflexes were remarkably slowed after all the days of laziness. Or perhaps he had never expected Ichigo to strike him in anything but a spar. As such, the Vizard's fist slammed into the side of his face, though lighter than his blows usually landed, and Stark took a step backwards to absorb the hit. His jaw ached, and he mumbled a curse, rubbing at his chin with his fingers.

"Idiot," Ichigo growled, shoulders heaving as a myriad of emotions reflected in his eyes. "Stupid Arrancar. What the hell did you think you were doing?"

Gingerly pressing at his jaw – there would be a bruise, he was certain of it – Stark raked his eyes over his lover, a very welcome sight. "And here, I thought you'd be happy to see me."

Something flickered across Ichigo's expression before he moved forward and grabbed Stark's clothes. He fisted the fabric tightly and pushing him back into the weak enclosures of his shelter.

"You didn't bother to tell me you were leaving!" Ichigo growled, and Stark finally identified that look.

It was hurt. Hurt mixed with anger. Rage. Fear.

Guilt instantly flooded him, and he grabbed Ichigo's arms as they came to a stop in the middle of the room, having nearly tripped over a low-lying table. "I knew you'd do something stupid like try to come with me."

"Damn right I would've," Ichigo returned. "Selfish bastard, if you didn't want to be with me, you should've just said it."

Stark let loose a sound of frustration. "That wasn't it, and you know it. You should be living your life, not abandoning it for my sake."

"Yeah, big thanks for giving me that choice." Ichigo snorted. "It took me weeks to wait for Urahara-san to build me a gate to get here."

"I'm surprised he didn't have one ready," Stark muttered, and sighed heavily. "I didn't want you to come."

Brown eyes narrowed. "Too late. I'm here, and I'm not leaving unless you're coming with me."

"You're so stubborn."

"Damn right I am."

Ichigo released his arm, only to curl fingers around the back of Stark's head and drag him down. He didn't resist, allowing their mouths to meet in an intimate kiss, lips moving sensuously together. Stark felt something inside of him warm, the bitter sense of loneliness being utterly washed away in the wake of this familiarity.

Suddenly, Stark really didn't want to let this go. And he couldn't remember why he had in the first place.

"You actually plan on staying here?" Stark asked, once the kiss had finally ended, though he wanted to do much, much more. "What about your family and friends? Schooling. That sort of thing?"

Ichigo lifted one brow. "Can't you open a Garganta or something?"

"Or something," Stark responded. "But Soul Society--"

"--isn't going to do a damn thing," Ichigo interrupted, eyes gleaming with his usual determination. "Not if I have anything to say about it. I have enough friends who'll stand by me. And so do you, though you don't know it."

Stark blinked. "What?"

"Well, Yoruichi-san for one. She seems to think you're good for me." There was a hint of smugness to the Vizard's tone. "Not to mention Ukitake-san and that drunk guy. They saw you take out Ulquiorra. And then that chick with the blonde hair who covered her face."

"Halibel," Stark said absentmindedly. "Besides, they were trying to kill you," he defended, remembering how the fourth Espada had attempted to stab his lover in the back. Halibel had at least gone for the front, though Ichigo had been fighting Nnoitra at the time.

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "And the fact that you saved Rukia and Renji in the process was entirely coincidental."

The Arrancar frowned but didn't argue.

"Byakuya's grateful about that, by the way. Not that the prissy bastard will ever say anything," Ichigo added with a hint of almost amusement, but he quickly shook it off. "Soul Society's not going to do anything to us. They're too desperate not to get on my bad side apparently. And if you'd stuck around, you'd have seen that."

Stark had to fight not to bluster. "Well, pardon me for wanting to protect you."

"Idiot." Ichigo just gazed at him with those damn expressive eyes. "Haven't you learned yet that I don't need it?"

Something in Stark eased at that. He smiled, releasing his hold on Ichigo's arms to pull his younger lover into his embrace. Thoroughly enjoying the feel of their bodies pressed together.

"I must be stubborn, too."

He tipped his head and used that opportunity to kiss Ichigo again. Predictably, Ichigo didn't seem to mind. And Stark had the idea that he couldn't give this up again. He couldn't walk away. It was impossible to abandon that gravitation. He never should have even tried.

"I really am an idiot," he murmured against Ichigo's lips, hands already reaching for his younger lover's clothing.

Ichigo blinked, his eyes darkening with desire. "What?"

"Nothing," Stark assured him. And his lips traveled across Ichigo's jaw, leaving kisses in his wake.

Hopelessly ensnared. Just like Urahara warned him. Funny, how Stark didn't seem to mind at all.

* * *

a/n: And that would be the end. You guys were probably expecting smut, huh? Sorry, I ran out of steam. Don't worry, there is a bit of a sequel in the works, though it focuses on another Espada. Look forward to it.

I do hope you guys enjoy! And if you're following my _Seireitei Monogatari _series, I've reopened requests until April 21st. Thanks for reading! I look forward to your comments!


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